


This One Is Special

by AppleSeeds



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angel Aziraphale (Good Omens), Angst, Attraction, Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale Loves Humanity (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley is a Mess (Good Omens), Dystopia, Ecological collapse, Falling In Love, Fluff, Human Crowley (Good Omens), M/M, Near Future, Pandemics, The Good Place vibes later on, heaven and hell against humanity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-11
Updated: 2020-11-18
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:35:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 27,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27509935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AppleSeeds/pseuds/AppleSeeds
Summary: Heaven and Hell are joining forces against humanity as written in the Divine Plan. Aziraphale is desperate to stop them, convinced that if he can just find evidence to show Gabriel that there is still hope for humanity, he might be able to persuade him to stand down. All he needs is one human, someone who has learnt to be better and wants to save the world... Might that person be Crowley, a man who has just quit his job and joined a spiritual retreat while he tries to work out what to do with his life in the face of unethical corporate practices, yet another pandemic and impending ecological collapse?Crowley is surprised by the interest Aziraphale is taking in him, listening to him like no one ever has before. Aziraphale also happens to be completely lovely and gorgeous enough to make Crowley reverse his decision not to think about men on this retreat. It's still a bit of a shock when Crowley wakes up surrounded by candles with Aziraphale actually in his bedroom though...
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 99
Kudos: 86
Collections: Good Omens Human AUs





	1. Prologue: All of us against all of them

**Author's Note:**

> This isn’t my usual fluff... there’s quite a bit of fluff in it (ObViOuSlY, I can't help myself), but it's mostly a dystopian story. This is an AU set about 20 years from now. Aziraphale is an angel, Crowley is human. It will reference the pandemic and other horrible stuff happening now and projected to happen soon. If you're looking to be cheered up, don’t read this, but if you can take the depressing side of it, I can promise you some cute fluffy moments too!
> 
> Thanks to KissMyAsthma for helping me get my ideas straight before I started writing this! <3
> 
> First chapter is just a short prologue to set the scene from Aziraphale's POV, it'll then switch to Crowley's POV for most of the story. Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoy it! :-)

“Beelzebub, Dagon, welcome,” Gabriel greeted the demons with his usual false, exaggerated smile. “Do take a seat.” He stretched out his arm and gestured towards Heaven’s meeting room table, a shiny, white monstrosity of a thing that one could write on with whiteboard markers during strategic planning meetings.

Aziraphale shifted uncomfortably in his chair. Should he stand? Should he say something to greet their guests? It would be _polite_ to do so, but they were demons, after all, so perhaps showing respect would be the wrong thing to do? Aziraphale was still fretting about the dilemma itself and his inability to make a decision about it by the time Beelzebub and Dagon had taken their seats opposite him. Gabriel clapped him aggressively on the shoulder; the way his nails dug into Aziraphale’s skin through his clothes presumably silent admonishment for Aziraphale’s behaviour. Gabriel slid into the seat beside Aziraphale and clasped his hands together, resting his elbows on the table and leaning forward.

“I’ve asked Aziraphale to join us because he’s been on Earth since the beginning,” Gabriel said, tilting his head dispassionately in Aziraphale’s direction. “Hopefully he’ll be useful,” he tagged on pointedly, his focus still on the two demons across the table. Aziraphale swallowed and tried to maintain eye contact with Beelzebub and Dagon, his eyes flitting nervously between the two of them, wringing his hands together discreetly under the table.

“We have enough demonzzz on Earth to know what’s going on, Gabriel,” Beelzebub buzzed, their gaze flicking to Aziraphale for a second with an expression indicating that he was entirely inconsequential in their eyes. For this, Aziraphale was actually grateful; this meeting was going to be horrible enough without it requiring any particularly active involvement on his part. “Not to mention all the paperwork from Purgatory. We all agree what hazzz to happen, I suggezzzt we get on with it.”

“Very well. I must concur; the Divine Plan is quite clear on this,” Gabriel conceded, and the sound of the Archangel Gabriel agreeing with the Prince of Hell sent a shiver down Aziraphale’s spine. He simply sat there in silence as the meeting progressed, listening to the three of them forming meeting schedules, office-sharing protocols, strategic tactical focus groups and... _battle plans_. The flicker of hope that had remained in Aziraphale’s chest before the demons had arrived was collapsing in on itself like the outer layers of a star before a supernova, and the results were indeed destined to be explosive.

Aziraphale blinked back tears and his heart ached as his _colleagues_ , including two former enemies, callously discussed the destruction of humanity as if it were simply another day at the office. He thought of all of the wonderful achievements of humankind, all of the simple pleasures of human existence, everything they had created over the past six thousand and fifty years. How could the others be so distant from Earth that they could seek its destruction so impassively? Aziraphale couldn’t just remain silent, he had to try _something_.

“Ah... excuse me, if I may just...” Aziraphale began tentatively. Gabriel sighed heavily and turned to him, rolling his eyes.

“What is it, Aziraphale?”

“Before we get too deep into the... ah... battle plans... do you think perhaps we might have a discussion about whether or not this is... actually necessary?”

“It’s the Divine Plan, Aziraphale, and if two demons can see that then I really shouldn’t need to be explaining it to an _angel_ , should I?”

“But the humans aren’t _all_ bad, and even the bad ones, they can get better! Isn’t that the point? That they have the opportunity to make choices? That they can choose to be better?”

“There’s no coming back from what they’ve got themselves into!” Dagon sneered.

“Agreed,” Gabriel nodded decisively.

“But we could help them to _fix_ it!” Aziraphale protested.

“That’s not our job, Aziraphale. The humans have had plenty of opportunities to fix it themselves. For Heaven’s sake, they had myriad opportunities to _prevent_ it, but they didn’t. There’s no hope for them, and neither Heaven nor Hell is equipped to deal with the humans we’re being expected to receive now. We need to put a stop to it, as soon as possible, before too many more of them are _born_ ,” Gabriel balked at the last word as though human birth were something repulsive.

“But what if you’re wrong? There’s so much paperwork from Purgatory, there’s no way you’ve had chance to go through it all!”

“That’s enough, Aziraphale,” Gabriel warned.

“But what if you _are_ wrong? What if there _is_ hope for humanity? Could you risk destroying God’s greatest creation if you weren’t _sure_?”

“Trust me, we’re sure. They can’t _get better_ , Aziraphale, I’ve seen no evidence to suggest that. Now, if you don’t have anything useful to contribute to this meeting, you’re dismissed.”

“But...”

“Off you go. Go back to Earth. You might as well _enjoy_ it while you still can,” Gabriel scoffed, patting Aziraphale’s stomach with the back of his hand. Gabriel didn’t even watch as Aziraphale shuffled out of his chair as quietly as possible, slinking out of the meeting room unobtrusively, shoulders hunched and hands clasped together in front of him.

He couldn’t give up now. He couldn’t just stand idly by and watch as Heaven and Hell united to destroy the humans he had been entrusted to protect. Gabriel was wrong, he _had_ to be. If he just took the time to examine the paperwork, surely he would see that there was still hope! Aziraphale, however, had also not taken the time to examine the paperwork, and with good reason: if piled on top of each other, the stacks of paperwork would have been taller than Mount Everest. But Gabriel had simply said that he had _seen no evidence_. The thought of that let the fading star of hope inside Aziraphale hang onto life, burning the very last of its fuel. All he needed was to find _evidence_ that humans had the capacity to get better. He just needed to find one human who had done so, who was willing to stand up for what was right and to make a difference, then Gabriel would _have to_ question whether they were doing the right thing. He just had to find _one_ human; surely it couldn’t be that hard.

Meanwhile on Earth, a farmer scooped up a duck, clutching it awkwardly to her chest as it flapped and struggled in her grasp. She forced it into a crate with nineteen other ducks and fifteen chickens, and phase one of Heaven and Hell’s plan to wipe out humanity commenced.


	2. Retreat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley arrives at Crystal Ball Retreat and gets settled in, but finds himself distracted by thoughts of the lovely man he's just met.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's a proper chunky chapter to actually get into the story! :-)

Crowley took back his identification card from the armed security guard and ran a hand through his hair, casting his eyes around the front garden of the posh South Downs country house in front of him. The whole thing was like an illusion, a mirage almost, sitting here all calm and quiet and historically fancy as though the whole world wasn’t going to shit all around them. Still, that was just what Crowley needed right now; he needed to hide away from it, _all_ of it, for a little while, just long enough to sort out what the fuck he was going to do with whatever was left of his life.

The garden was beautiful, a traditional English cottage garden the likes of which Crowley hadn’t seen for maybe a decade. Crowley felt something sizzle and flicker inside him, a spark trying to rekindle the remnants of a fire that had been snuffed out a long time ago. It had been far too long since he’d been in a real garden. ‘ _Research shows that green walls achieve the same psychological benefits as spending time in a forest_ ’ and the massive fake, plastic Monsteras dotted around Crowley’s former workplace could fuck right off, there was nothing that compared to being amongst real, _living_ , lush green plants. After gardens had been taken over for construction and to grow crops as more and more agricultural soils became too degraded, and then after the raids on the countryside during the food shortages when international borders closed during the 2034 pandemic, gardening for pleasure had fallen out of fashion. Being here was truly like stepping back in time.

Crowley stretched out his arm as he walked down the path, letting his fingertips brush up against the bright blue cornflowers lining it. The flowerbed was eerily quiet. The last time Crowley had been in a garden like this, the plants had hummed with the buzzing of bees and hoverflies, but now it didn’t matter how brightly-coloured the petals, how sweet and calorie-rich the nectar at their core, there were barely any insects left to attract. A woodpigeon was calling in one of the trees, but otherwise, besides Crowley himself and the security guard, the garden appeared to be devoid of animal life.

Crowley reached the quarantine tent to the side of the front door, its sterile, modern presence incongruous and disquieting against the backdrop of the old country house and the vibrancy of the garden. He squirted sanitiser onto his hands at the door, rubbing it in before stepping inside, pulling his mask down to sit under his chin and performing the necessary swab with the efficiency of someone who had done this far too many times before. These quarantine tents had become like Christmas decorations, something you stored away but not too far out of reach, knowing the time to get them back out would roll around again before you even knew it.

Crowley shoved the swab into the reader and perched awkwardly on the plastic bench inside the tent while he waited a couple of minutes for the analysis to be completed. The screen of the testing unit turned green.

**H7N2 negative. Please swipe identification card.**

Crowley breathed out a sigh of relief (he’d been outrageously careful, but you could never be sure) and swiped his card, unhooking his mask from behind his ears and shoving it, now that it would no longer be needed, in his pocket. He left the tent and touched his card to the reader beside the front door of the country house, the original Victorian wooden doors opening by means of an automatic mechanism that would hopefully turn out to be Crowley’s last reminder of the modern world for a while.

He stepped into the foyer, which was elaborately decorated in keeping with the country house’s era of construction. There were candles held in sconces on the walls, gold-framed oil paintings of the water gardens present here in centuries past, an impressive old grandfather clock and two plush Victorian armchairs positioned facing each other beneath the window. Modernity had been incorporated to an extent, the fire safety equipment stood out for a start, but overall, this seemed like the perfect place to hole up away from the problems of the world.

“Hello there, my love. Mr Crowley, isn’t it? I’m Tracy, welcome to the Crystal Ball Retreat,” the red-haired lady at the front desk greeted him with a friendly smile. The desk was clearly another modern addition, but it had been designed to blend in tastefully with the historic surroundings. It was only when Crowley approached it more closely that he was able to see the screen propped up on it and the obligatory plastic bottle of hand sanitiser.

Tracy was dressed in... well, exactly the kind of clothes Crowley might have expected the proprietor of a spiritual retreat to be wearing, making him question for a second whether he had _really_ been desperate enough to justify coming here. He closed his eyes for a second to appreciate the absence of noise, reminding himself that he’d done the right thing.

“Thanks.”

“Did you have a pleasant journey?”

“Yeah, not bad.”

“We don’t often have people booking an open-ended stay,” Tracy observed, glancing down at the screen in front of her.

“Well, nyeehh, I just... I don’t know how long I’m going to need.”

“That’s the best way, love. We’ve all got far too good at _scheduling_ things, haven’t we? Sometimes we just need to let things happen in their own time.”

“I suppose.”

Of course, booking an open-ended stay meant the price Crowley was paying for each night he spent in this place was considerably higher than it would have been otherwise, but he had savings, and what was the point of a load of money in the bank if his life was totally meaningless?

Crowley’s watch pinged and he instinctively glanced at it.

“Are you ready to give that up?” Tracy asked.

“Oh, yes, definitely,” Crowley confirmed without missing a beat. He unclasped the watch from his wrist and dumped it on the desk in front of Tracy without actually reading the notification. It was soon joined by his phone and his mask. “Please, lock them away.”

Tracy smiled and fiddled with something beneath the desk, presumably opening up a safe or a locker. Tracy picked up Crowley’s unwanted belongings and then they disappeared from his sight, a thud and a beep indicating they had been safely stowed away. Tracy reached for the hand sanitiser.

“If you find that you need your phone...”

“I won’t.”

“If you do, just come and find me and we’ll talk about it.”

“Fine. Thanks.”

“Here’s all the information you should need: meal times, activity schedule, a map of the house and grounds and so on, but if there’s anything else please don’t hesitate to ask,” Tracy said brightly, handing Crowley a small pamphlet. He teased the material between his thumb and fingertips, not realising how much he’d missed the feel of paper, information that was fixed and unchanging, free from constant revision and demands to keep up-to-date.

“Thanks. I really do appreciate you offering me a place here. When I filled in the questionnaire I didn’t think I stood much of a chance, especially for something open-ended.”

“Now, now, none of that, you are _exactly_ the kind of person who deserves a chance here, Mr Crowley,” Tracy replied, flicking her hand dismissively. “Now, is there anything you’d like to ask me or are you ready to get settled in?”

“No, yeah, I’m fine, thanks.”

“All right love, Aziraphale will show you to your room.”

At that point a man emerged from the door behind the front desk, apparently summoned by Tracy discreetly tapping the screen in front of her. The first thing Crowley noticed about him was his clothes. Whereas Tracy seemed to be going for an outfit with new-age spiritual vibes, _Aziraphale_ seemed to be aiming for something to tie in with the era in which the country house had been built, including a tartan bowtie, a well-worn beige waistcoat and a fancy gold pocket watch. It was nice to see someone so committed to details in their work.

“Hello,” Aziraphale beamed at him before almost imperceptibly glancing down at the screen on the front desk and retrieving something from under it. Crowley raised an eyebrow.

“Hi.”

“Follow me please; your room is just at the top of the stairs.”

“Thanks.”

Crowley clutched the handle of his bag more tightly when Aziraphale passed him and reached out for it, drawing it closer to his body in refusal of Aziraphale’s unspoken offer to carry it. Crowley followed the man up the stairs, realising after a few steps that he could actually allow himself to graze his hand along the ornate wooden handrail, something he had habitually avoided since 2020. The wood felt smooth beneath his fingers, like something natural and _real_.

“Here we are,” Aziraphale announced, gesturing to a door that was indeed only a few steps away from the top of the stairs. Aziraphale unlocked the door using a key, an actual, physical, metal _key_ , which he handed over to Crowley as soon as he stepped inside. The room was simple and old-fashioned, just a double bed with a hideous floral duvet, a bedside table housing a lamp with an even _more_ hideous floral lampshade, a small wardrobe and chest of drawers, and a writing table with an uncomfortable-looking wooden chair tucked under it. “The bathroom is just through there.”

Crowley dropped the key and his bag onto the bed, and the pamphlet he’d been given onto the table, before walking over to the bathroom door and peeking inside. It really was a _bath_ room, with an actual bath in it. Now _that_ really had been a while; he hadn’t been in a bathroom that actually had a bath in it for over a decade.

“I’m Aziraphale, by the way,” the man offered brightly. Crowley turned towards him, looking properly at his face for the first time, a little surprised that he’d found the man’s outfit sufficiently distracting that he hadn’t realised how good-looking he was until now. Aziraphale’s cheeks rounded as he smiled, and he exuded a gentle, welcoming warmth and softness that prompted Crowley to wonder, just for a millisecond, whether it would entirely inappropriate to hug him as a gesture of thanks for showing him to the room.

“Yeah, I got that,” Crowley smiled. “I’m Crowley, hi.”

“It’s lovely to meet you, Crowley,” Aziraphale replied, saying his name slowly and deliberately like he was getting a feel for it. “So, what made you want to come on a spiritual retreat?”

“Peace and quiet,” he shrugged, stepping back over to the bed and flopping himself down onto it, his hands scrubbing at his eyes. Now that he was away from it all, the exhaustion caused by the stress of the past few weeks wasn’t just catching up with him it was slamming into him faster than he could handle.

“Ah, right, of course, my apologies. I’ll leave you to it then,” Aziraphale offered sheepishly. Crowley hadn’t meant his words the way Aziraphale had taken them, but, since he was craving time alone, he didn’t bother to object. Hopefully there would be plenty of other opportunities to admire Aziraphale over the coming days, for purely aesthetic reasons of course; Crowley certainly hadn’t come here to have anything to do with _men_. “Good day, Crowley.”

“Thanks, see you later.”

Aziraphale’s lips quirked into a small smile, although he seemed to have lost some of his enthusiasm. Crowley felt a twinge in his gut in response, but when Aziraphale left and the door clicked shut behind him, Crowley let it go, listening to the strange roar inside his mind induced by the silence. He kicked off his shoes and shuffled up the bed, transferring the key to the bedside table to make sure he didn’t lose it, depositing his bag on the floor and laying his head back on the pillow.

_So, this is it, I’m here. Should I start trying to work out what to do with my life straight away or should I just lie here for a bit? Should I maybe just try to rest first? Although I can rest and think at the same time. Am I even supposed to actively think about it or am I supposed to just spend time away from everything and see what my brain does? It is **really** quiet here. Can’t believe Aziraphale had an actual **pocket watch**. Oh shit, is there a clock in here?_

Crowley opened his eyes and raised his head slightly to look around the room. There wasn’t a clock. That made sense, after what Tracy had said about over-scheduling, but still, Crowley would need to know when he could get dinner. Would he have to keep popping out into the lobby to look at the grandfather clock? Or maybe he could just learn how to tell the time by the sun’s position in the sky? There probably was an actual sundial in the grounds somewhere, and Crowley was tempted to have a look out of the window to see what kind of view his room had, but that would mean getting up from the bed, and he wasn’t _that_ tempted. He relaxed his muscles, his head flopping back down onto the pillow again.

_It’s going to take a while to switch off I guess. I suppose it doesn’t matter what I think about for now, at least I’m away from everything and everyone’s been tested. Oh shit, my medication! I need to know what time it is to take it! Maybe I could ask Aziraphale if I could **borrow** that fancy little pocket watch? I probably should have told him I wasn’t trying to get rid of him. He seemed really nice. Really nice smile. I could talk to him later maybe. Ok, why am I still thinking about the random guy I just met? There are more important things I need to think about! God, it’s really, **really** quiet here. _

The absence of distraction drew Crowley’s attention to the waves of ever-present anxiety roiling in his chest, a building pressure that seemed to push both up and down against his sternum as though it were being compressed in a vice.

**_Of course_ ** _it’s quiet, that’s what I wanted, that’s what I need! At least it’s safe here. At least I have some time. At least I can actually hear myself think._

Crowley’s hand twitched and he found himself reaching out to the bedside table instinctively for his phone, his hand instead coming into contact with the key to his bedroom. He berated himself for the unconscious action triggered by his anxiety and picked up the key, swinging it back and fore to occupy his hands.

_This is ridiculous, I’ve only been here a few minutes. I can’t really be that addicted to constant mental stimulation can I? Is checking for updates on infection rates and whether anyone’s leaked the story about the kids in the mines really preferable to just lying here quietly? Come on, come on, come on, I can do this. Aziraphale’s hair was nice. Those little curls were really..._

“Stop it!” Crowley growled to himself out loud. He could sense where his thoughts were going and... no. Just no. Not now. He came here to be alone and to figure things out. He would _not_ be entertaining himself with thoughts of _any_ men, not even a man who seemed sweet and soft and... “Oh, for fuck’s sake!”

Crowley should set himself rules. Like the retreat had the ‘no devices’ rule, he should set his own rules, and ‘no thinking about men’ needed to be on there as rule number one, because what were men but just something else he’d always used as a distraction? Crowley really needed to _not_ be distracted. He knew he needed to figure things out, but it was all too much, all too complicated, and he really didn’t know where to start.

Crowley shuffled up into a seated position and pulled his knees towards him, hugging them against his chest. Maybe he wouldn’t sort anything out. Maybe his time here would just be like a dream, a brief break from reality before he returned to the real world and faced the inevitable end. Maybe he should just try to enjoy himself, after all, what was there really to figure out? It’s not like anything he came up with would actually make any measurable difference in the world.

**_I_ ** _could leak the story. They’d know it was me but what difference does that make at this point? Though if I do, will anyone actually do anything? Especially with the duck flu situation. Maybe I should wait. But they’ll just cover it up, and their lawyers would easily beat mine. I’d lose everything and for what? Because it’s the **right thing to do**? Oh God, those poor kids..._

Crowley groaned and launched himself from the bed. This wasn’t helping. He stared out of the window for a while, slightly disappointed to learn that he _didn’t_ have a view of a sundial, not that he would have known how to read it. The window did, however, look out into the grounds of the country house, and only two of the visible trees were devoid of leaves and showing signs of disease. The others were lush and green, and in front of them, closer to the house, was a Japanese garden, complete with a tea house and other shelters in which Crowley could see other people sitting and seeming to contemplate existence. There was a pond with a curved bridge over it, and even from up in his room Crowley could make out the bright white and orange koi carp swimming close to the surface of the water.

“The pamphlet, I could read the pamphlet,” Crowley mumbled, a little surprised that he’d already resorted to talking aloud to himself. He sat on the chair at the writing desk, which turned out to be slightly less uncomfortable than he’d imagined, and flicked through the pamphlet. There were a lot of activities happening at specifically scheduled times for a place that didn’t have clocks in the rooms. They included yoga, meditation workshops, spiritual awakening circles (whatever they were), and cooking classes.

Dinner would apparently be served at seven, but Crowley needed to take his medication at six. He’d arrived at about three-thirty, and already had no concept of how much time had passed. Apparently he would have to venture out of his room sooner than he’d hoped. He could at least have a walk around, familiarise himself with the place, that made sense, ease himself more gradually into doing nothing. So with a heartfelt sigh, Crowley grabbed the key from the bedside table and headed back out of the room, locking it behind him and shoving the key in his pocket. It poked uncomfortably at his thigh, the pockets of his tight jeans not really designed to accommodate chunky archaic keys.

Aziraphale was busy with something behind the front desk when Crowley reached the bottom of the stairs. He momentarily glanced up, but didn’t acknowledge Crowley, probably trying to grant him the peace and quiet he sought.

“Hey,” Crowley ventured. Aziraphale placed his palms on the desk and looked up, giving Crowley his full attention and a blinding smile, presumably taking Crowley’s mumbled greeting as permission to engage. Being on the receiving end of that smile sent a thrilling shiver down Crowley’s spine.

_Don’t_ , he warned himself.

“Hello, Crowley,” Aziraphale beamed.

“Hi, erm, look, I’ve noticed there isn’t a clock in my room.”

“Yes, Tracy feels it’s best for us to not be constantly reminded of the time, but there are clocks in all of the common spaces,” Aziraphale confirmed, gesturing to the grandfather clock that Crowley had already spotted earlier, “so you can find out when it’s time for meals and activities.”

“Yeah, I know, it’s just, I have this kidney thing, a lasting gift from 2034,” Crowley mumbled sardonically, “and I have to take medication at really specific times, one of which is six in the morning.” Crowley had been a young man and got through the 2020 pandemic relatively unscathed, but he’d always wondered whether it had somehow left him more vulnerable to the damage caused by the next one.

“Oh, right, well... here, why don’t you take my watch?” Aziraphale offered, adopting a low voice as though they were engaging in some sort of clandestine activity, unclipping the gold pocket watch from his waistcoat and holding it out towards Crowley. “It can be our little secret.”

Despite the fact that the thought of asking to borrow the pocket watch had crossed his mind, Crowley found himself refusing. “Oh no, thank you but I can’t take that. You need it.”

“I have others. Please.”

“You have more than one pocket watch?” Crowley asked incredulously.

“Don’t sound so surprised, it turns out I need more than one, doesn’t it?” Aziraphale said jovially, and Crowley stepped closer to him to take the watch, wanting to ignore the way their fingers brushed together in the exchange and the tingling that spread throughout his body as a result. The response seemed disproportionate for such an insignificant touch, but when was the last time Crowley had had any physical contact with _anyone_ , besides being accidentally shoved on the street? Well, now that was a depressing thought.

“Thank you, I really appreciate it.” Crowley turned the watch over in his hand. It looked like real, solid gold. He couldn’t quite believe Aziraphale trusted him not to steal it, although, they did have his details in the retreat’s computer so it wouldn’t be the most sensible crime he’d ever committed were he to leave without returning it. Crowley shoved the watch into his pocket, the feel of it, along with the key, making him feel like he really had travelled back in time.

“You are most welcome. Is there anything else I can do for you?”

“Erm... no, thanks,” Crowley responded somewhat reluctantly. “I was just going to explore the grounds a bit.”

“Lovely. Perhaps I’ll see you later.”

“Yeah, see you,” Crowley mumbled, heading along a short corridor towards the door out into the grounds. Once away from the foyer, Crowley took a second to catch his breath (apparently being subjected to a smile from Aziraphale was more than his damaged lungs could handle without issuing some form of complaint) before heading outside, offering the untainted air to his lungs as a gratefully-received apology. Crowley noticed his eyes were stinging, and when he touched his fingertips to them, they came away coated with a film of moisture.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, I hope you're enjoying it so far! :-)


	3. You can't kill kids

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley makes little progress trying to work out what to do with his life, and opens up to Aziraphale about what's on his mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A big chunk of a chapter! Chapter lengths in this will probably be all over the place, sorry!
> 
> c/w - child labour (including in my end note), negative and hopeless thoughts, human suffering (i.e. this isn't something to read if you need cheering up!)

Crowley had explored the grounds for a while, frequently ducking behind a tree to discreetly glance at Aziraphale’s pocket watch to make sure he got back to his room before six. That’s what he told himself anyway, but given that he’d looked at it at 4.50, 4.57, 5.05, 5.09, 5.16 and 5.24, he had to admit it was more an attempt to fulfil the habitual need to pull something out of his pocket and stare at it. Could he really not spend more than a few minutes alone with his own thoughts without the need for distraction?

Despite his twitchiness and the ever-present undercurrent of anxiety, a long-dead part of Crowley became reanimated when he strayed off the path around the cultivated gardens and wandered beneath the canopy of the trees. He reached out to feel the rough, furrowed texture of the bark of an old oak tree and took a deep breath full of calming phytochemicals. _Just paint the walls green_ , seriously, who the fuck did they think they were kidding?

After weaving in and out between the trees, Crowley studied the verdant plants of the Japanese garden and stood on the bridge over the pond to watch the fish for a while. Apparently someone normally took up this position to feed them, as the fish all swam over eagerly and expectantly raised their gaping mouths above the surface of the water.

“Sorry guys,” Crowley mumbled to them.

At 5.45pm he headed back to his room and rummaged around in his bag for the plastic container full of tablets, removing one and placing it down on the writing table. He propped up Aziraphale’s pocket watch beside it, and ended up just, whether mindfully or mindlessly he wasn’t really sure, watching the unceasing progression of the second hand until the correct moment arrived and he scooped up the tablet, placing it on his tongue and swallowing it down without water.

Crowley hadn’t really achieved anything with what he’d thought about during that time, his mind jumping all over the place. There had been something about the fish, and whether he should ask Aziraphale or Tracy (although obviously it would be Aziraphale) whether he could feed them. Something about the quiet, in fact _a lot_ about the quiet, the bizarrely deafening absence of the artificially-incorporated whirr of electric vehicles, the blaring of quarantine enforcement klaxons, the shouting of voices all wanting to be heard, the constant ping of notifications... it was all gone, and that somehow made Crowley even more aware of its existence and concerned about how he would ever successfully return to it without losing his mind. Then of course there were the kids in the mines... had he actually done the right thing? Would it have been better to stay, try to effect change from within the machine? His stomach lurched. Probably best to go back to thinking about the fish.

Crowley took himself over to the bed and lay down again, placing Aziraphale’s pocket watch on the bedside table but trying to force himself not to keep looking at it. No wonder Tracy had decided to keep clocks out of the rooms.

_I wonder what Aziraphale’s job is here? Oh, right, so apparently I’m back to thinking about Aziraphale. He is pretty hot though, and that smile could be fucking **weaponised**._

Crowley’s thoughts then ceased to comprise words, and instead comprised images. Aziraphale’s soft-looking, fluffy white blond curls, his stormy blue-grey eyes so full of eagerness to please, that captivating, immobilising smile and that ridiculous old-fashioned outfit...

_Didn’t come here to think about men. Didn’t come here to think about men. Didn’t come here to think about men_ , Crowley repeated to himself like a mantra, and yet think about men, or rather one specific man, was all Crowley did until it was time for dinner. He waited until four minutes past seven, somehow hoping that would be sufficient to conceal the fact he had a forbidden timepiece in his room, and then headed for the dining room, which he knew from the map was adjacent to the foyer.

A buffet had been laid out on a long table at the edge of the room. Several people were already sat together enjoying their meal, but Crowley ignored them, picking a few things off the buffet and then sequestering himself alone at a table in the corner, facing the door into the foyer. Every time he heard voices or the sound of footsteps, he glanced up to the door, watching as everyone else who came in gathered in groups at the tables, laughing and joking as if they knew each other well. Not one person asked Crowley if he wanted to join them, or asked if they could join _him_ , but he wasn’t surprised to discover that general human cliquiness extended to the kind of people who attended spiritual retreats. Not that Crowley was complaining, he certainly hadn’t come here to make friends. **_Or_** _think about men_ , he reminded himself.

Crowley’s stomach somersaulted when Aziraphale entered the dining room. He wanted to tell himself that his reaction was inappropriate and, more to the point, _inconvenient_ given what he was hoping to achieve during his time here, but it was hard to go from a fast-paced world of constant stimulation to having nothing but his own thoughts about the futility of everything and the inevitability of human self-destruction to entertain himself, so instead he indulged it. Earlier, Aziraphale had just been wearing a pale blue shirt with his waistcoat over it, but now he’d put on a beige cardigan that made him somehow look even softer. Crowley’s eyes trailed up and down Aziraphale’s arms. He could discern the outline of a defined bicep when Aziraphale’s arm flexed to pick up a plate from the table, contrasting with the gentleness of his demeanour. Aziraphale took small steps and tread lightly as though he wanted to minimise the impact he had on the world.

Crowley realised he was staring and forced his eyes back to his plate, grateful that Aziraphale hadn’t turned around and caught him looking. He waited an appropriate amount of time, then raised his head and quickly scanned the room, finding that Aziraphale too had elected to sit alone, at a table in the opposite corner, beside the door to the kitchen. While Crowley finished his meagre dinner, he ended up looking up at Aziraphale a total of thirty-seven times. The retreat so far was not going according to plan.

Crowley returned to his room after dinner, leaving him once again alone with his thoughts.

_What about trying to work for a charity? There are still people out there trying to do good. Maybe there’s something I could do to at least improve the conditions in the mines? Get them medical care? If we’re ever able to travel again that is, and if the water shortage is dealt with, and if the militia are called back. Their government’s not going to want anyone going in there; it’s worth too much to them. Who am I kidding thinking there are answers to any of this? There’s nothing I can do. Might as well admit it, I’ve come here to hide. I’m a coward. Maybe I don’t even care anymore. A seven to ten percent death rate? I’m bound to be one of them, they’ve got enough data about underlying conditions now... and even if I survive this, how long can we really carry on like this? It feels like the end of the world is coming, and if that’s true, what’s the point of anything? But if I could alleviate suffering, just a little bit, that’s always worth something isn’t it? No matter what? But how the fuck do I actually **do** that?_

Crowley’s thoughts continued to roll around and around in circles, tripping over each other, turning back on themselves, crashing together like they were performing a poorly-choreographed and inadequately-rehearsed gymnastics routine, which they repeated over and over and over again until the sun set. Crowley pressed pause on his thoughts, fumbled under the floral lampshade to find the switch, bathing the room in an artificial glow that had been designed to look natural by someone who clearly believed removal of nature was irrelevant, because there was always an engineered replacement. He dragged himself off the bed, visiting the bathroom and changing into his pyjamas before sliding under the covers and pressing ‘resume’ on his previous train of thought.

_It doesn’t even matter if I do everything I can to lessen my own impact. It’s a drop in the ocean. Less than that. Nothing makes a difference. Everything is hopeless. Everything has an end, if I happen to be living at the end of the world, well, so be it. Maybe tomorrow I’ll ask about feeding the fish. I felt bad about the way they were looking at me, and it would be nice to feel wanted. Fuck it, yeah, that’s a plan. I’ll feed the fish. I’ll ask Aziraphale about feeding the fish. Got to have something to look forward to. There’s no point in aiming for anything else if everything’s hopeless now, is there?_

Crowley’s thoughts continued along a similar vein until eventually the fatigue took over and he managed to fall asleep.

The next day, Crowley woke with the sunrise, scooping up Aziraphale’s pocket watch from the bedside table, relieved to discover that even in the absence of an alarm he hadn’t missed his six o’clock medication time. He clutched the watch in his hand, forming a loose fist around it, and decided to lie in bed for a while. He may be unemployed now (he tried not to dwell on that, a series of painful memories washing over him at the thought, triggering the release of a sharp burst of adrenaline in his gut) but at least that meant he didn’t have to leap out of bed with his heart pounding every morning after getting far too little sleep.

Crowley relaxed his hand and jostled the pocket watch until it rested comfortably on his fingers so that he could smooth his thumb over it. Crowley explored the ridges of the embossed pattern on the watch, which he hadn’t really noticed yesterday, and propped himself up on his elbow to study it more closely. The ridges turned out to be in the shape of a pair of wings, possibly angel wings, which Crowley decided was incredibly appropriate for Aziraphale.

Crowley got up to take his medication at six and then flicked open the pamphlet Tracy had given him just to check he’d remembered the time for breakfast correctly. He had, and it wouldn’t be available until seven. He sighed heavily and tapped out a rhythm on his thighs for want of anything else to do. He realised he was already missing music. Maybe he should have thought this whole thing through a bit more. In the presence of too much, _nothing_ had felt like the greatest gift he could be given, but in reality (although he felt a twinge of guilt for even thinking this given his immense privilege for having been granted it), nothingness was turning out to be pretty boring.

Crowley headed into the bathroom, and, with little else to occupy him, decided to take a bath, for the novelty value if nothing else. He stripped off and climbed into the tub, pulling his knees up to his chest and turning his head to rest his cheek on them. He was still bored, but now he was bored, naked and surrounded by water, although still with nothing besides his thoughts to entertain him. Crowley did think of one thing he _could_ do in such a situation, but to be honest, his heart wasn’t really in it.

Then he found himself thinking about Aziraphale again.

_Oh, come **on**! Not appropriate!_

Crowley didn’t linger in the bath for long, but he had to admit, it was quite nice to lie back and relax with the water enveloping and cocooning him. He dried and dressed, picking up the pamphlet again to occupy his mind. When he’d booked the retreat, Crowley had had no intention of taking advantage of the _activities_ on offer, but with the whole expanse of the empty day ahead of him, he wondered whether he might have to. The cooking thing might not be too bad. He wondered whether Aziraphale was running any of the activities; that might provide the necessary incentive for Crowley to give something new a chance.

At breakfast, Crowley once again claimed the corner table, and when Aziraphale arrived, he too occupied the same table he had the night before. Crowley wasn’t surprised, he already had the impression that Aziraphale would be a creature of habit. Crowley looked up at him a total of twenty-three times, which was progress, and wondered whether, like he, Aziraphale was sitting alone by choice, or whether he would have preferred company.

Later, in the grounds, Crowley climbed up a small bank and sat on the ground. This position afforded him a good view of the garden, and the comings and goings of the people within it. At 11am, Aziraphale emerged from the house and headed straight for the pond. The fish swarmed towards him, and although from this distance Crowley couldn’t hear him, from Aziraphale’s expressions and animated behaviour, he did appear to be talking to the fish. Crowley smiled at him fondly and was tempted to rush down to join him, but in the end thought better of it.

Aziraphale brushed his hands together over the pond, dislodging any remaining flakes of fish food, and then began a tour of the garden, granting him even more the appearance of a wealthy Victorian gentleman. Crowley watched as Aziraphale approached the other guests, engaging them in conversation with that same genuine beaming smile on his face that Crowley had been fortunate enough to be on the receiving end of yesterday. Crowley realised that his position at the top of the bank meant it was unlikely that Aziraphale would approach him. He started scouting for better locations that he might discreetly be able to move to, extrapolating Aziraphale’s course around the garden to inform his choice.

_Right, because this is what I should be thinking about right now. Millions of people are dying, the world is literally burning and here I am trying to... what? Manipulate a situation so I can share a few words with an attractive man? Sounds about right,_ Crowley conceded, rising elegantly from the ground and running down the bank, glancing over his shoulder once he reached the path to check Aziraphale wasn’t watching. Crowley then adopted a casual, strolling pace, turning his head at random intervals to pretend to just be taking in the sights of the garden.

_Pathetic._

He took a seat in the small herb garden, which achieved its status as Crowley’s chosen destination because unless Aziraphale doubled back on himself, he would need to pass it to return to the house. Crowley took a deep breath, inhaling the floral scent of the lavender and the aniseed-like fragrance of fennel, its feathery leaves hanging over the back of the bench. Three hoverflies were feeding on the tiny white flowers of the yarrow, and Crowley’s breath caught as he watched them, warmth blooming in his chest. Nature was hanging on, and nature would recover once the inevitable happened and the human population was slashed in more than half. That’s what they were projecting. The pandemic would only knock off about 7-10%, but the fires, the food and water shortages, the lack of medical care, the inefficacy of antibiotics, that would take care of at least another 40%. Crowley rubbed the fennel leaf between his thumb and forefinger and then raised his hand to his nose to smell it, closing his eyes and inhaling deeply. God, he missed having a garden.

Crowley slouched down on the bench, keeping his eyes fixed on the hoverflies, even when he detected movement in his peripheral vision. Could lying in wait for someone still be classified as stalking?

“Hello,” Aziraphale greeted politely.

“Hey,” Crowley smiled.

“Lovely day.”

“Yeah.”

_Well, this is going well. If I don’t actually say anything he’s going to think I just want more **peace and quiet**._

“Well, I hope you enjoy it. Good day, Crowley.” Before Crowley really had chance to register what was happening, Aziraphale was already walking away from him.

“Bye,” he called towards Aziraphale’s back, probably much too loudly in his determination to make sure he was heard.

_Ugh. Humiliating._

At lunch, Aziraphale once again sat alone, and Crowley spent the entire time wondering whether he should go over and talk to him. He planned routes out of the dining room that would take him past Aziraphale’s table so he could casually say hello, but all of those potential routes were _inexcusably_ circuitous, and so he was forced to abandon that particular plan.

In the afternoon, Crowley got as far as the doorway to the kitchen before deciding at the last minute that he couldn’t face the prospect of _socialising_ in the cooking class, instead retreating to his bedroom to engage in another few hours of _thinking_ , which once again achieved precisely nothing of any value. After a while, Crowley stopped even trying to work out what to do about the big issues, and just let himself think about Aziraphale and the way he had seemed to glow in the springtime sunshine as though he were an actual angel. There was a sereneness to Aziraphale that was immensely more appealing than the mendacious claim of calm promised by the retreat itself, and something so captivating about him that Crowley thought he could probably just stare at the man for hours on end and not get bored. _Who needs meditation classes when you’ve got him working here?_

These general thoughts about how wonderful Aziraphale was ( _I’ve literally said about ten words to him, I can’t believe I’m indulging this_ ) transformed into consideration of a specific topic: should Crowley speak to Aziraphale at dinner? Crowley had arrived at all three meals so far almost as quickly as possible, which meant that on each occasion, Aziraphale had entered the room after him. If Crowley waited a bit longer before heading down, such that Aziraphale would already be seated, Crowley could approach his table and ask to join him.

Given Aziraphale’s choice of table, this plan would result in Crowley enduring the aforementioned disappointingly long and circuitous walk of shame back to his own usual table if Aziraphale declined, but still, it was worth a go. So, when dinner time rolled around, Crowley waited until 7.17pm before leaving his bedroom. He didn’t want to wait too long, else Aziraphale might have nearly finished his dinner and he would have missed his chance. 7.17pm seemed to be a fair compromise to achieve both of his objectives.

When Crowley reached for a plate at the buffet table he noticed his hand was trembling slightly, which he would rather have attributed to his malfunctioning body than the idea he might actually have been nervous about what he was about to do.

_I really think there are more important things for me to be worrying about right now,_ he chastised himself.

Crowley rolled his eyes and picked a few random items from the buffet, dumping them on his plate. Then he rearranged them to look neater, concerned that Aziraphale might judge him somehow for the tidiness of his plate. The man seemed so well put-together, although nothing about him gave the impression that he was judgemental, so Crowley was just being silly. He took a deep breath to steady himself and weaved in and out of the tables to reach his destination, the other guests not even glancing at him as he did so.

“Hi, Aziraphale. May I join you? I mean, would you like some company? I mean, if you’d like to be alone, I totally get it, I can just...” Crowley stammered, uncharacteristically flustered.

“I would absolutely love some company, thank you, Crowley,” Aziraphale beamed, wiggling excitedly in his seat. Crowley could actually feel his skin flush in response, and dipped his head as he took a seat opposite Aziraphale in an attempt to conceal it. “Have you had a good day?”

“Not bad.”

“I do hope I didn’t disturb your peace and quiet in the garden earlier,” Aziraphale ventured, his tone laced with uncertainty. If only he knew how much Crowley had _wanted_ to be ‘disturbed’ by him.

“Nyyuuhhh,” Crowley began, his throat struggling to form words and practising with a series of trial syllables, “not at all. When I said I came here looking for peace and quiet I didn’t mean I didn’t want to talk to anyone.”

“I’m very happy to hear that,” Aziraphale smiled, and Crowley braced himself by grasping at the arms of his chair. “How are you finding it? The peace and quiet?”

“Honestly?” Crowley asked, and Aziraphale nodded enthusiastically. “I’m bored, transcendentally bored! There’s nothing to do here!”

“I think that’s rather the point,” Aziraphale teased, and Crowley blinked a few times. He didn’t think he’d ever actually seen anyone have an actual twinkle in their eye before.

“I know,” Crowley conceded, “and I know that I _need_ it but I guess I’m just not used to it. Struggling to adapt.”

“What is it that made you feel you needed it?”

“Need to work out what the hell I’m doing with my life. I just quit my job,” Crowley admitted. He hadn’t expected any conversation he managed to have with Aziraphale to go down this route (he would have settled for a quick chat about the fish), but somehow he sensed that Aziraphale could be trusted, a feeling Crowley couldn’t actually remember having experienced before. Aziraphale exuded _something_ that made Crowley want to open up, with only the tiniest flicker of reluctance inside of him telling him to resist. Crowley had already started to realise he wasn’t going to get far with working things out on his own, so maybe talking about it would actually help. If the person he talked to happened to be insanely attractive, well, all the better.

“Oh, what job was that?” Aziraphale asked politely.

“Well, technically for _legal reasons_ I can’t tell you who I worked for if I’m gonna tell you why I quit, but erm... well, you know, tech stuff,” Crowley settled on to explain of his former role.

“I see. So _are_ you going to tell me why you quit?” Aziraphale asked, his tone light.

“Have you heard about the children dying in the artisan cobalt mines?”

“Yes, I have,” Aziraphale replied immediately, the lines across his forehead deepening. Crowley raised his eyebrows.

“Wow, _really_?” Had he been speaking to anyone else, Crowley would have thought they were lying like people often did to make themselves seem more knowledgeable in a conversation, but he just knew that Aziraphale would never do such a thing. How he could _possibly_ know that was a mystery. “That’s a fucking _miracle_ ; the big tech companies work very hard to keep it quiet.”

“I have a strong interest in the wellbeing of others,” Aziraphale offered by way of explanation. Crowley could feel the corners of his mouth tugging into a smile. Those bastards really thought they could keep people in the dark, but of course someone as lovely as Aziraphale would have found out about it. He probably didn’t even _own_ any devices containing cobalt. “Do continue, my dear,” Aziraphale prompted. Crowley realised he’d just been staring at him and cleared his throat.

“Oh, right, well, anyway, the guys I worked for are a big part of that. They try to keep it covered up, you know, buying from intermediary refineries in different countries, that sort of thing, but it turns out they know _exactly_ what they’re doing, as I unfortunately discovered recently when I started asking questions. Long story short, I raised my concerns and it didn’t go well, so I ended up walking out. So, yup, now I’m officially unemployed.”

“I’m sorry to hear it.”

Crowley scoffed. “Don’t be! I’m not.”

“And now you’re here.”

“Yeah, now I’m here trying to work out what to do given the fact the whole world’s going to hell. I feel like the world could literally end at any minute to be honest,” Crowley confessed, and he was surprised by Aziraphale’s reaction. Looking at him closely now, Crowley could see that behind the brightness and kindness in Aziraphale’s eyes, there was a flicker of pain and hopelessness, and it left Crowley wondering what _his_ story might be, how he’d ended up working here. “You agree, don’t you?”

“I share your concerns, yes.”

Crowley took a deep breath, his heart rate quickening with anticipation. Had he actually found someone he could talk to about all this? Someone who would take it seriously?

“Most people just seem to be ignoring it, thinking it doesn’t have anything to do with them, that it’s somehow going to get better. There’s no getting better from all this though, is there? The only thing I’m not sure of is what will actually be the final straw that decimates the human population. A mutation in this virus, or maybe another pandemic? Total climate collapse maybe, I mean that’s due any minute, isn’t it? Food shortages, a massive war over access to freshwater? We’re already seeing pockets of violence, governments using the military to control water supplies, right? As if it’s not bad enough that half of us going to get wiped out, people in power think they have the right to assign different levels of value to people’s lives, decide who lives and who dies!”

“Well, after the pandemic has run its course, I suspect the next stage will be widespread uncontrollable fires,” Aziraphale murmured sadly. He sounded like he really meant it, like maybe he knew even more about all of this than Crowley did.

“Yeah, that’ll do it.” Crowley leaned on the table and pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes. “What the hell did people expect? We’ve known about this for decades! They kept reporting it was getting hotter, the ice was retreating, the positive feedback loops, the crop failures, the soil degradation, on and on it went and no one did a fucking thing and now rich people are acting surprised that they can’t just _buy_ their way out this? Like, they really thought if somewhere ran out of water and the soil got degraded they could just get what they needed from somewhere else? As if we wouldn’t reach a point when there wouldn’t _be_ a somewhere else left anymore? Not to mention their disregard for all the people who _couldn’t_ just afford to buy things from somewhere else! And all this destruction has been for _what_? To make more money? And _then what_? We spend it on useless shit that causes even more destruction? I mean, _fucking hell_! Fuck, God, sorry, shit! Erm... sorry,” Crowley fumbled with his words, not even trying to hide the redness in his cheeks this time.

“That’s quite all right, my dear, I don’t mind if you swear.”

Crowley had worked himself up into a fury with his rant, and so the tingling deep in his gut when Aziraphale called him ‘my dear’ barely registered. Still, it was there.

“Oh, right,” he sighed with relief, concerned about his loss of control. “Thanks. It’s just... I _know_ it’s all gone to hell, but _kids_ , Aziraphale! You can’t kill kids! Although... do you know what? _Apparently_ I was wrong. Apparently you _can_ kill kids as long as the cost of the lawsuit will be less than the profit that will be made from the product. Bet you didn’t know that, did you?”

“No, I didn’t.”

“And you know what’s worse? Most of us have a load of old devices stuffed away in drawers in our homes, full of cobalt, but because we can’t be arsed to recycle them, the kids are down there mining more. It’s like nah, yeah, whatever, I don’t want to have to go out of my way to recycle my old phone but it’s totally fine, let’s just _kill some kids_!” Crowley raised his voice enough that it attracted attention from guests sitting at other tables. He raised his hand towards them in a gesture of half-hearted apology (this may be a _spiritual retreat_ but if you can’t raise your voice about the fact kids are dying then when can you?). Crowley hadn’t planned to end up delivering a passionate tirade to Aziraphale as part of their first proper conversation though, and he was already regretting it. He should probably have just asked about the fish and then complimented Aziraphale’s hair or something, asked him how he managed to get it to look so soft and fluffy.

“Well, it’s been lovely talking to you, Crowley, but I’m afraid I must be going now,” Aziraphale murmured, that hopelessness in his eyes now impossible to miss. Crowley’s heart plummeted to his stomach.

“Oh... erm... ok. Sorry, are you...? Did I...?”

“I’m fine, there’s just something I need to do. Have a good evening, Crowley.”

“Right, you too,” Crowley murmured as Aziraphale rose from his chair and briskly left the room. “Well that went down like a lead balloon.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> c/w child labour
> 
> Crowley's concerns about the mining are actually based on something happening right now - families in the Democratic Republic of Congo raised a lawsuit against Apple, Dell, Tesla, Microsoft and Google in December 2019 centring around children killed and maimed in cobalt mines supplying these companies, accusing them of "knowingly aiding and abetting forced labour practices". Some of the kids working in the mines earn the equivalent of about US$0.65 a day. The tech companies are trying to get the case dismissed on the grounds that global supply chains can't be considered a "venture", which is the terminology used in the relevant law, and that the children aren't *forced* to do the work.
> 
> It's a sad world we live in. I think I need to write some more fluff. <3 I promise the next story I publish will be a Christmassy fluff fest and Crowley will have lovely long hair and get snow in it.


	4. There is still hope

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale disappears for a while, but when he returns, he and Crowley take every opportunity they can to talk to each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm just gonna go and start working this story towards some FLUFF, which will mostly be happening in the next chapter. If you've stuck with it to this point you deserve all the fluff I can throw at you. <3

Crowley didn’t see Aziraphale at all the next day, and perhaps this goes without saying, but it wasn’t for lack of trying. He seemed to have disappeared completely.

With far too much time to think about it, Crowley had decided he would apologise to Aziraphale for his outburst about the kids in the mines when he saw him at breakfast (the outburst may have been _justified_ , but even Crowley had to admit it had been a lot when he barely knew the man). After rehearsing what he would say to him, Crowley had needed to fight hard to swallow down the heavy lump of disappointment in his throat when Aziraphale had never materialised. At eleven, Crowley had headed into the garden, sitting beside the pond, once again in anticipation of Aziraphale’s appearance there. Sadly, half an hour later, it was Tracy who had emerged from the house to feed the fish, and she and Crowley had shared a few polite words before she retreated back into the house.

Without Aziraphale to ogle (a preferable word to _stalk_ , yes?), Crowley was suffering more greatly from the absence of things to occupy himself. The retreat was even more boring than his time in prison; prison had been _full_ of distractions. Not necessarily good or healthy ones though, which he supposed was part of the point of his being here.

Crowley kept thinking back to Aziraphale’s response to what he’d said last night, and didn’t really know how to feel about it. On the one hand, it was nice to have someone willing to acknowledge the hopelessness of the whole situation, but on the other hand, it made it harder for that tiny voice inside Crowley to find a way to speak up and tell him he was wrong, that there was _always_ hope, that maybe there was still, somehow, time to fix things.

In the afternoon, Crowley actually joined the cooking class, and they baked under-ripe early summer squashes, leaving Crowley realising he knew less than he thought about the seasonality of vegetables. Aziraphale, of course, wasn’t there. When Aziraphale didn’t even appear at dinner, Crowley ate as quickly as he could and retired to the sanctuary of his room. The silence was so oppressive he ended up singing quietly (and pretty badly) to himself, hoping no one would pass by his bedroom door and hear him.

_Maybe this was a bad idea. I should probably just leave_ , Crowley thought, but the way his pulse spiked at the mere thought of it reminded him that he couldn’t really leave; there wasn’t anywhere to go. Not anywhere _safe_ , anyway. Better to be bored than perpetually afraid, right? Not that that made him any better than all the other people using their money to protect themselves while the poor suffered, but Crowley was trying to just see it as something of a reprieve. A last chance to live, to just _be_ , before he had to face reality again and the inevitable consequences of it.

“You have to give it chance,” Crowley grumbled to himself. _After all, you don’t go booking an open-ended stay at a spiritual retreat if you believe you’re going to have all your shit figured out after two days._

At breakfast the next day, Crowley was once again unable to stop himself from repeatedly glancing up at the door, jittery with hope and anticipation. His breath caught when the moment finally arrived and Aziraphale appeared in the doorway. Their eyes locked and Aziraphale smiled, his eyes crinkling and his cheeks rounding, and even if he had wanted to, Crowley would have had no chance of holding back the delighted grin he gave Aziraphale in return.

“May I join you?” Aziraphale asked, with a note of hesitancy in his voice that Crowley couldn’t comprehend, although he feared it was rooted in Crowley’s tendency in their previous encounters to either act like he didn’t want to talk to Aziraphale or to completely go off on one with barely any prompting.

“Yeah, yes, absolutely, of course.”

_Ok, ok, calm down, you idiot,_ Crowley berated himself, but Aziraphale looked absolutely thrilled.

“You all right? Didn’t see you yesterday?” Crowley asked softly.

“Oh yes, fine, thank you. I have other work that I do, besides my role here,” Aziraphale explained. Crowley flinched, and apparently did a poor job of disguising his thoughts at that moment, because Aziraphale added, “Nothing that would bring me into contact with the virus, I assure you, and everyone is tested every time they come and go from the retreat.”

“Oh, I didn’t... sorry, I didn’t...” Crowley began, sucking a breath in between gritted teeth.

“Not at all, my dear fellow, you have every reason to be concerned, with your condition.”

Being called ‘ _my dear fellow_ ’ was something Crowley had every intention of devoting further time to considering later, but for now, he was focused on his objective of not letting Aziraphale believe he was nothing more than a selfish prick.

“Yeah, but I didn’t mean to...”

“Think nothing of it,” Aziraphale said sincerely, raising his palm in a quick dismissive gesture. “So, last time we spoke, you said you were trying to work out what to with your life. Have you given it any more thought?”

Crowley blinked and raised his eyebrows. He’d had doubts that Aziraphale would want to talk to him again at all, particularly about the very thing that had prompted Crowley’s outburst in the first place.

“Well yeah, I suppose. I haven’t got anywhere though. I mean, you know we were talking about how it’s inevitably going to hit the fan even more than it already has?”

“Yes, I’m afraid that is starting to seem very likely,” Aziraphale sighed.

“Right, well, if you _know_ that, if you know it’s all going to go tits up, then how do you live? How do you make the most of the time you have left? I suppose that’s where I’m at, really.”

“And have you worked anything out?”

“Not much. The obvious things, you know? If you see someone suffering and you can do something about it, do it, right? But honestly, what can any of us _really_ do to make a difference?”

Aziraphale leaned in closer, and Crowley had to resist his instinct to lean back in his chair to restore the distance between them. Allowing himself to be drawn into Aziraphale’s orbit felt like something his parents would have warned him against, like sitting too close to the television or staring directly at the sun, but as with most of the cautions he’d been given in his life, he was choosing to ignore it.

“Are you trying to work out what you could do to help save the world?” Aziraphale asked, his voice laced with enough hope that it broke Crowley’s heart to hear it. At this point, Crowley wasn’t even sure whether having hope should be considered a blessing or a curse.

“I think we’re well past one person being able to make any kind of real difference,” Crowley responded, pressing a hand to his gut to suppress an ache that seemed to stem from the idea of disappointing Aziraphale.

“Oh, I don’t know about that, I haven’t completely given up hope,” Aziraphale smiled, pausing to study Crowley for a moment, who shrank down a little in his chair in response. “By the way, I wanted to thank you for coming to sit with me the other day. That was very kind of you. People don’t tend to want to talk to me very much.”

“Why the fuck not?” Crowley asked, far too aggressively. He really needed to rein himself in.

“I think I ask too many personal questions. But you seem happy to talk to me about these things, and I am very grateful.”

“I appreciate you listening, angel.” Aziraphale had been taking a sip from his tea and choked on it, coughing to clear his throat, and Crowley realised immediately what he’d done. “Oh shit! Sorry, I...”

“What did you call me?”

“I’m sorry, Aziraphale,” Crowley mumbled sheepishly.

“Why did you call me that?” Aziraphale challenged. He looked absolutely horrified, and Crowley winced.

“It’s just a thing I was thinking, because you... you know...” Crowley desperately tried to think of a reasonable explanation, “your pocket watch,” he settled on, as if _that_ justified calling someone he’d only known for a couple of days _angel_. “It has angel wings on it.”

“Yes, it does,” Aziraphale stated slowly and cautiously.

“Sorry, I won’t do it again.” Crowley scrubbed his hand through his hair as an excuse to block at least part of his face with his arm.

“It’s all right, I don’t mind. You just caught me off guard, I suppose. My apologies.”

“Jesus, no, _you’ve_ got nothing to apologise for! For someone who’s got far too much time for thinking right now I don’t think I’m doing a very good job of it. Sorry,” Crowley mumbled.

“Please don’t be sorry,” Aziraphale said quickly, reaching out and laying his palm on the table between them. For a moment, Crowley thought he was actually going to try to take his hand, and he could hear the rattling squeak of his lungs when he exhaled betraying his physiological response to the thought. “So, I believe you were saying about alleviating suffering?” Aziraphale prompted, changing the topic of conversation. Crowley nodded rapidly, grateful for the reprieve.

“I want to do more, but I feel trapped, and I end up wondering whether anything I do would actually make a difference anyway. Or is that an excuse? I mean, any good I do is better than doing nothing, right?”

“And have you done many good deeds?” Aziraphale asked, that hopeful smile painted on his lips once again.

“Honestly? No. I’ve just been getting on with life like everyone else, pissed off about the state of the world but never thinking any of it was _my_ fault, you know? I guess that’s why the thing with the mines really hit home. I worked for that company. How close do you have to get to the problem before you’ll actually admit you _are_ a part of it?”

“That’s very laudable,” Aziraphale praised.

“No it isn’t, it’s sad that it took a load of kids suffering and dying for me to see it.”

“But you saw that you could do better, what else can we hope from humanity?”

Crowley was sure he could get lost in the soft, reassuring sound of Aziraphale’s voice if he let himself. It was so tempting to just allow himself to drown in it, to believe what Aziraphale was saying was true, but his own sense of self-loathing was a much more powerful force to reckon with even than the voice of an _angel_.

“And what’s changed?” Crowley challenged. “I quit my job, some other arsehole has probably already taken my place, and what have I done to actually make a difference? Nothing, I just fucked off here because I’ve got enough money to be able to afford it. You know what’s occurred to me about all this? We get to call it a ‘spiritual retreat’ or whatever, but locking away our phones, disconnecting, it’s just an excuse to ignore all the shit that’s going on, isn’t it, while we hide away in our perfect little bubble away from reality?”

“It’s not wrong to need to take a moment to find clarity.”

Crowley huffed out a breath and shook his head, leaning back in his chair.

“God, you really are a genuinely nice person, aren’t you?”

“I hope so,” Aziraphale said with a pout, as though to even _consider_ otherwise would be absolutely shocking to him. Well, good for him. Crowley wished he could feel the same way about himself.

“How did you end up working here?”

“I was looking for something, this seemed like a good place to try to find it,” he replied cryptically. Crowley raised an eyebrow.

“And have you found it?”

“Possibly,” Aziraphale nodded thoughtfully, then leaned both arms across the table in front of him. “Crowley, I’m enjoying talking with you. I’d be very happy to help you work through some of your thoughts, if you would find it useful to, well, think aloud, as it were.”

“Are you sure? It’s a mess in here,” Crowley questioned, pointing to his temples.

“I’m very sure.”

Warmth bloomed inside Crowley’s chest. _He enjoys talking to me. He wants to talk to me more._ A fluttering sensation began building in his stomach. _Maybe I shouldn’t, I mean, I did say... nah, you know what, fuck the rules, that’s been the story of my life, why change now? It’s not like the world will be any more of a hellhole if I let myself have this, will it?_

“Thanks, I really appreciate it,” Crowley smiled.

“Splendid!” Aziraphale beamed. The force of that smile left Crowley wishing he could press his face up against one of the urban scrubber’s outlet pipes. The natural trees may have mostly been alive here, but maybe they weren’t doing their job properly, because there didn’t seem to be enough oxygen in the room. Crowley swallowed and frantically searched his mind for something to say, eventually settling on something safe.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

“I saw you feeding the fish, I don’t suppose I could join you next time?”

Aziraphale chuckled softly. “Absolutely. That would be lovely.”

So they talked. The talked every day at breakfast, lunch and dinner. They talked in the herb garden, and they talked under the shade of one of the elm trees where the ground beneath was even enough to comfortably sit. When it rained, they talked in the Japanese tea house, and when the wind started driving the rain under the shelter, they sat opposite each other in the armchairs in the foyer and talked there. They talked standing on the bridge while feeding the fish, and they talked whenever Aziraphale had a spare moment during the cooking classes, which apparently he ran whenever the subject of the class involved _baking_ rather than actually cooking. Baking without access to eggs had resulted in some rather unusual creations after the tried and tested existing vegan recipes had been exhausted, but Crowley wasn’t exactly attending the classes for the quality of the _food_ , so he didn’t give it much thought.

Crowley and Aziraphale talked about _everything_ , from the meaning of life to the meaning of death, the power of the individual, philosophies of self-improvement, moral obligations, the value of self-awareness and the ripple effect caused by both positive and negative actions. Well, Crowley did the majority of the actual talking. Mostly, Aziraphale just listened, asked questions and offered words of encouragement, but he also provided some incredible insights. When Crowley talked to Aziraphale he felt like he came alive, like he was _glowing_ in a way he never would have thought possible in this Hell-on-Earth that was the world they lived in. He had never met anyone like Aziraphale, had never imagined the _possibility_ of meeting anyone like Aziraphale. Crowley had never been able to open up and talk about all of the thoughts that rattled around inside his mind before, and he quickly became addicted to it, but then, what else is new?

Crowley struggled to imagine what his time here at the retreat would have looked like without Aziraphale here to guide him. A few weeks passed, and Aziraphale made Crowley feel like it was ok to hide here, just for now, to recover, to get stronger, before he tried to take on his small corner of the world. Aziraphale made him see that all the small good things did matter, that they did make a difference, and that it was nonsensical for a single human being to judge their actions against the scale of global problems. He kept asking questions, challenging Crowley to think about things from different perspectives. He took an interest in hearing Crowley’s thoughts, which Crowley found baffling, but Aziraphale gave no indication of being anything other than genuine. Crowley had ranted about everything from his own experiences in his last job to the disinterest and ignorance of the wider population, and Aziraphale had listened to it all, telling him he was a good person, how much it meant that Crowley had found his own way out of that ignorance, never relenting no matter how much Crowley tried to resist his words.

One day, when Crowley joined Aziraphale for breakfast at what was now _their_ usual table (people had been coming and going from the retreat over the past few weeks and Crowley had still not spoken to anyone else), he could tell immediately that something was wrong. Aziraphale’s shoulders were slumped and he was pouting, poking at his food unenthusiastically.

“Hey, what’s up?” Crowley asked, sliding into the seat opposite and setting down his own plate.

“Oh, nothing, it’s silly. Good morning, my dear,” Aziraphale replied, his expression brightening.

“Go on,” Crowley urged. “You always listen to all my shit.”

Aziraphale frowned and shook his head, but Crowley crossed his arms on the table and leaned in close, tilting his head and widening his eyes.

“Fine, I miss crepes!” Aziraphale sighed heavily.

“You _what_?”

“I did tell you it was silly.”

“S’not silly, it’s just... a bit random,” Crowley smirked, rubbing his chest absentmindedly in response to the burst of fondness that asserted itself there.

“Today is Thursday, and we always used to have crepes on a Thursday, but now with all the poultry cullings it’s been a nightmare trying to get any eggs delivered, as you know, and now Tracy’s stopped even trying. I feel terrible about the birds as well, please don’t misunderstand me, but I... well, I do miss crepes.”

Crowley pouted and tilted his head sympathetically. “I’m sorry.”

“Well, as our discussions have shown, there are certainly more serious things to be concerned about.”

“Yeah, maybe, but everyone needs to have _something_ to look forward to or we’d all go mad.”

“And what are you looking forward to today?”

“Well, mine’s already happened. I was looking forward to talking to you,” Crowley winked, thrilled to see the rosy colour that bloomed across Aziraphale’s cheeks before he ducked his head to try to hide it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I told you there would be fluff and I promise you more! <3 Where do you think Aziraphale went...? ;-)


	5. Everything I am

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley has a surprise for Aziraphale.

Crowley _may_ have done a thing. Ok, Crowley _had_ done a thing, but, more specifically, he may have done a _stupid_ thing. Or maybe it was a good thing. Maybe. No, it was. It was a good thing. Definitely a good thing.

Crowley had spoken to Tracy about using his phone. At first, she’d narrowed her eyes, looking at him with something akin to concerned judgement, but once he’d explained why he wanted it, and when he’d asked her to stay with him while he did it to make sure he didn’t use his phone for anything else (he really didn’t miss the thing anymore and didn’t want to get sucked back in), Tracy had softened and fetched his phone from the locker immediately.

Before he knew it, Crowley was sending £40 to his old friend Eric to ship a dozen eggs to the retreat from his off-grid smallholding. Eric only had six chickens, not even enough to need a license, and he lived in the middle of fucking _nowhere_ , so Crowley had no doubts they would be safe. £40 for a dozen eggs, was this a new low on the list of stupid things Crowley had done in his life for a man?

Actually, yes, it was, but it was also a new _high_ , since he’d never actually done anything like this for _anyone_ before. Aziraphale had been an amazing friend ( _he’s my friend, he’s my friend, we’re friends, I’m doing this for my **friend**_ ) during his time at the retreat so far, and Crowley couldn’t help himself, he’d _had_ to do something nice for him.

So now he and Tracy were in the kitchen together making crepes, and Aziraphale had no idea.

“This is such a lovely thing you’re doing,” Tracy cooed.

“He’s an angel, he deserves it.”

“Oh, I know, I’m very lucky to have him here. Such a lovely man.”

“The way he listens makes me realise no one I’ve spoken to before was actually really listening to me.”

Tracy chuckled softly. “Yes, I know what you mean.”

As soon as breakfast time started, Crowley kept discreetly poking his head around the door between the kitchen and the dining room to see whether Aziraphale had arrived yet. He could easily get away with this, as Aziraphale always sat in the corner with his back to the kitchen door, and before they had started sharing their meals together, Crowley had wondered whether he did so because he enjoyed watching the comings and goings of the guests. Hopefully it _was_ just that, and not to prevent any of those guests from sneaking up on him from behind, because Crowley had plans to surprise him.

When the time finally came and Crowley spotted those white blond curls in the dining room, he experienced a jolt in his gut and his face broke out into a grin. He scooped up the plate of crepes from the warming panel and put them on the tray he’d prepared with various toppings that Tracy had told him Aziraphale liked.

Crowley was giddy with excitement as he slinked out into the dining room, hovering behind Aziraphale and then lowering the tray down onto the table before quickly revealing himself and flopping down into his usual chair opposite. Aziraphale blinked, his lips parted as he glanced between the tray and Crowley several times with an expression of total bafflement.

“What’s this?”

“Crepes. It’s Thursday,” Crowley said nonchalantly, biting his gum to try to prevent himself from grinning.

“But how? The pandemic?”

“I’m resourceful,” Crowley winked. Aziraphale squinted and furrowed his brow.

“Yes, I can believe that, but you don’t have a phone, or a computer, or the internet!”

“I’m _very_ resourceful,” Crowley responded, no longer able to keep the grin off his face as Aziraphale touched his hand to his heart and looked at him with wonder, as though Crowley had just somehow solved all the world’s problems and not just provided him with his favourite breakfast by essentially bribing an old friend. Overwhelmed, Crowley found himself needing to look away for a second to gather his strength before meeting Aziraphale’s eyes once again. To be on the receiving end of that look was _easily_ worth £40 and an early start in the kitchen. “Go ahead, before they get cold,” Crowley encouraged. Aziraphale tentatively picked up his fork.

“These are real crepes?”

“Yep.”

“With eggs?”

“Yes, and don’t worry, they’re one hundred percent safe.”

Aziraphale broke off a piece with his fork and pushed it into his mouth, closing his eyes and moaning with delight. Hearing that particular sound was worth a hell of a lot _more_ than £40 and an early start in kitchen. Crowley licked his lips involuntarily.

“S’good?” he croaked, then cleared his throat.

“Scrumptious!” Aziraphale confirmed, already breaking off a second piece. Crowley braced himself, both physically and mentally. The moan that emerged from Aziraphale’s throat this time was somehow even _more_ enthusiastic ( _getting those eggs is without a doubt the best thing I’ve ever done in my entire fucking life_ ), as though the first moan had been subdued by Aziraphale’s concern that the crepes perhaps wouldn’t meet his standards, but now he knew what to expect. After all, Aziraphale struck Crowley as a know-what-I-like-and-like-what-I-know sort of person. “Absolutely wonderful! Thank you so much, Crowley!”

“S’no big deal.”

“That is most certainly not the case! I can’t imagine how you managed to achieve this but I am extraordinarily grateful! Aren’t you having any?”

“Nah, I’m all right. Save the eggs so you can have more later.”

Aziraphale put his fork down and stared at Crowley, that look of awe in his eyes again that never ceased to prompt Crowley to clutch his arms across his body, as though trying to hold his form together and prevent himself from melting into a puddle.

“You know, Crowley, I really do think you might be the nicest person I have ever met.”

Crowley scoffed. “No way. I’m not nice, angel.”

“Oh, don’t be silly, you are extremely nice!”

“I’m really not.”

“Yes, you are,” Aziraphale insisted, but Crowley kept shaking his head. “I’d say I’ve got to know you pretty well by now and I really don’t think there’s anything you could say to persuade me otherwise.”

Aziraphale had no idea how wrong he was. Did he really believe that because Crowley had opened up to him over the past five weeks that he’d not been making a conscious effort to conceal much, _much_ more than he chose to share?

Crowley couldn’t figure Aziraphale out. One moment he would seem older than his years, someone who had been around forever and saw the truth about the world, surpassing the need for egotism and pride. The next, he seemed so vulnerable, trusting that the image someone portrayed to him was the unquestionable truth. Aziraphale would be so easy to manipulate, the perfect mark, and as cruel as it felt to declare a war of attrition against this innocence, Crowley couldn’t stand the thought of the risk it could pose to him in this heartless world.

“Yeah? Well, I’ve been to prison, how about that?” Crowley confessed, information he’d held back all these weeks as he’d told himself to focus on the _future_ , not the past.

“Oh,” Aziraphale responded simply. He scrutinised Crowley for a moment. “For what reason, my dear?”

“Potential to cause death by dangerous driving.” The truth. The only criminal activity for which Crowley had actually been arrested. As he listened to the words escaping his lips, Crowley’s lungs tightened and he rubbed his palm over his ribs in an attempt to alleviate some of the pressure.

“So... you didn’t actually hurt anyone?”

_Damn it, Aziraphale, don’t do this! Stop trying to only see good in me!_

“No...” Crowley drew out the word, his voice low and stern, “but that’s why they changed the law, isn’t it? Shouldn’t be let off just because you got lucky and no one was around when you were behaving like an idiot.”

“But if people _had_ been around, might you not have behaved differently?”

Crowley bristled. “I doubt it. I was pretty out of it, to be honest.”

_That should do it. Come on, Aziraphale! If you only let yourself see the good in people they’re going to walk all over you! I’m not good. I’m not nice. I’ve done terrible things, this isn’t anywhere near the worst of it. You have no idea who I am._

Crowley clenched his fists and narrowed his eyes, challenging Aziraphale to finally yield, to accept the truth. A rage burned inside his chest, adrenaline drawing that vulnerable rattle from his lungs with each shallow breath he took. He wanted Aziraphale to want to spend time with him, to care about him, but he was _done_ with accepting Aziraphale paying attention to what was just a facade constructed over Crowley’s surface to mask who he really was deep down. In the absence of a future, Crowley had come to realise that his past was more important than he had wanted to believe. He was the sum total of all of his life, including the very worst of what he’d had to offer this world.

“Well, I think this makes you an even _better_ person,” Aziraphale concluded.

Crowley snorted. He was too incredulous to try to form a coherent objection. “How the hell d’you figure _that_ out?”

“Because you did something wrong, and I can tell you regret it, and now you’re trying to make the world a better place.”

“Oh, I’ve done a _lot_ more than just that,” Crowley pressed. What the fuck was happening? Crowley glanced down at Aziraphale’s half-eaten plate of crepes. He’d just wanted to make Aziraphale happy. This wasn’t how this morning was supposed to go.

_How **was** this supposed to go? What was I actually hoping to achieve? He needs to see who I really am. I want him to see me. Really see me. If he still likes me then... if that’s possible... oh, please let that be possible... I think I’m falling for him. Fucking hell, how did this world manage to create someone so incredible?_

“Well, if you’d ever like to talk about it, I would be happy to listen.”

Crowley planted his elbows on the table and let his head fall into his hands. “Aziraphale, _please_. Just eat the crepes,” he sighed exasperatedly. Aziraphale’s mouth quirked into a frown but he complied, breaking off another piece with his fork, sighing contentedly when it landed on his tongue. Crowley leaned his chin on his hand and watched him. Aziraphale dabbed at his mouth with a napkin, and Crowley’s heart felt like it might explode from how adorable he found even this simple action.

“Crowley, may I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“Do you believe in God?” he asked timidly. Crowley barked out a laugh.

“Er, _no_! Are you _kidding_ me? You’ve seen the world! Why, do _you_?”

“Yes, I do.”

“And how’s that working out for you?” Crowley scoffed.

“Not well at the moment,” Aziraphale admitted.

“Yeah, you don’t say? Why would you even ask me that?”

“I’m just trying to work something out. I’m sorry, don’t mind me,” Aziraphale murmured, returning his attention to his crepes.

“Hey, no, don’t say that,” Crowley said softly, his hand reaching out towards Aziraphale but stopping halfway. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have reacted like that, you’re totally entitled to your beliefs. I guess I’d just rather believe there isn’t a God than believe there is one that would just let all of this happen without doing anything about it. Unless they’re just letting us wipe ourselves out so they can start over, I suppose I could get behind that.”

“Please don’t say that.”

“Humans are a scourge on this planet. Get rid of us and the world will be better off. Nature will recover,” Crowley shrugged.

“Crowley, please!”

“What?”

“I know things are bad, I do, I _really_ do, but there is so much good in humanity, so much beauty and creativity, so much _love_ , it’s not something to be discarded so callously!”

“Try telling that to your God.”

“I have.” Crowley glanced down at the table. He didn’t really know how to respond to that. “And I haven’t given up hope, Crowley.”

If Aziraphale’s unwavering hope came from his faith, then... well, actually that explained a lot, but for Crowley, it forced him to acknowledge that Aziraphale’s hope was most definitely unfounded. Still, he shouldn’t have been so disrespectful. He’d been here for _weeks_ , how long did someone have to spend at a spiritual retreat before they gained some semblance of control over their fucking mouth? Crowley had come here and plunged himself into the dark labyrinth of his thoughts, and Aziraphale had consistently been a beacon of light guiding him to the exit. Crowley should have been bending over backwards to praise him, to thank him, to care for him... not just making stupid grand gestures involving crepes. Aziraphale deserved _everything_ , and if only Crowley were worthy he would have done everything in his power to give it to him. His life would have meaning then. _Then_ he would be something good. Crowley felt his eyes prick with tears, the trickle of moisture into his tear ducts a clue to the dam that was about to burst inside of him.

“I _love_ that you have hope, Aziraphale. You have my utmost respect. I think you’re wonderful, I really do. I’m honestly not sure this world deserves you. Your friendship means so much to me, I don’t think I tell you enough, and I’m sorry if I ruined your crepes by being a negative self-deprecating arsehole, I promise I’ll make you some more later, ok? I really care about you, you know that right? I can hardly believe you’re real. I’m sorry if this is weird. I just... wanted you to know.” Crowley ran out of steam and grimaced. Apparently when he had let down his guard in an attempt to get Aziraphale to see him for who he really was, it wasn’t just the worst of him that had wormed its way out. “You’ve done so much for me. If there’s _anything_ I can do for you, please tell me. I feel like I’ve been really selfish. I’m so sorry. Please forgive me.”

“I do forgive you. I forgive you for _everything_ you’ve done. You are the very best of people, Crowley, please accept that. Do not think that means I don’t see you, _all_ of you, because I do. I do not believe someone is better than someone else simply because they have had the privilege to not have to endure hard times.”

A tear trickled down Crowley’s cheek, and he scrubbed it away roughly with the side of his hand.

“Thank you.”

A few days later, Crowley lay beneath the elm tree, _their_ elm tree, and rolled onto his side. He wrapped his arms around himself, one hand tucked under his cheek and the other resting on his hip, the closest he could get to the sensation of someone actually holding him. It had never particularly bothered Crowley that he’d never been in a serious relationship. Well, that wasn’t quite true, he had been in a handful of _serious_ relationships, what he had never experienced was a _loving_ relationship, and it had always been fine. Perhaps because it is hard to truly yearn for something you have never known.

This wasn’t the conclusion Crowley wanted to draw from this experience. He couldn’t leave this retreat, a place he’d come to work out what to do with his life and how to affect some positive change in the world, with just the fucking clichéd notion that love would conquer everything, that to be loved would bring meaning to his life, and that to love another would give him purpose and allow him to effect positive change, even if only for one person, and that that could be enough.

He flexed his hand against his hip and thought about Aziraphale. He imagined him curled up behind him, holding him close, telling him he was good, that he was worth something, and that he would look after him. There was no point trying to think about anything else now. He’d been over it, _they_ ’d been over it, _all_ of it, so many times, and this was where he had ended up, with a masochistic desire to endure the throbbing ache in his heart for someone he wanted to love but didn’t deserve.

After their breakfast together a few days ago, when Crowley had blurted out perhaps more than he should have (but nothing he regretted), he had made Aziraphale more crepes at lunch and made sure to keep their conversation relatively light, but Aziraphale had seemed distracted. In the end, Aziraphale had revealed that he wouldn’t be around for a little while, and Crowley’s heart had taken a freestyle dive that turned into a rather painful belly flop right into the depths of his stomach.

Crowley missed him. He missed him so much it physically hurt. It couldn’t do to be this dependent on someone. He would have to leave the retreat eventually, and then what? Would the constant noise and stimulation of the real world be enough to take his mind off someone who could very well have been an actual angel?

“Hello Crowley.” Hearing that warm, comforting voice was like taking a hit to escape from the wretched agony of withdrawal, and Crowley drank it in. He rolled onto his back to watch as Aziraphale approached, the light of the sun behind him bathing him in a warm glow. 

“Hey,” Crowley breathed reverently, shuffling upright and supporting himself on his elbows. “How was your other job?”

Aziraphale had consistently been elusive when it came to this ‘other work’ that he did, and Crowley had given up trying to figure it out. It had become clear early on that it wasn’t something that Aziraphale was at liberty to talk about, which had stoked the fires of Crowley’s curiosity immensely, but he had managed to respect Aziraphale’s privacy.

“Oh, it was fine, thank you,” Aziraphale murmured unconvincingly with a brief smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

“You sure? Did something happen?”

“Oh, no, not really, it’s fine.” Aziraphale lowered himself onto the ground to sit beside Crowley.

“If it’s an ‘outside world’ thing, I don’t mind, you can tell me.”

“No, I can’t. This is a _retreat_ , you’re supposed to be spared these things.”

So many thoughts rushed through Crowley’s mind then, images cobbled together using details from the past. The sick and dying lying on the floor of hospitals because there weren’t enough beds. People huddled together in community centres to escape another wave of floods, all the while passing the virus between them. Another war that had broken out over access to water, soldiers shooting civilians who desperately tried to reach what they needed for their basic survival.

“Can’t be any worse than what I’m imagining,” Crowley muttered.

“Are you sure?” Aziraphale asked cautiously, and Crowley shuffled closer to him and nodded. “It’s the fires.” _Of course, the fires! Should have thought of that._ “More have started, and they’re spreading... well, like wildfire. Millions of people have died already, Crowley, it’s terrible,” Aziraphale sighed, staring off into the distance. “I’m running out of time.”

“What do you mean?”

“Oh, nothing, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said anything. Please, you were relaxing. Don’t let me disrupt that.” Aziraphale looked at him so imploringly that Crowley felt compelled to comply, lying back down on the soft ground and closing his eyes. Aziraphale had mentioned fires before, that he’d thought they were the one to beat, as it were, in the contest of what would result in the greatest destruction for humanity. Crowley couldn’t help but wonder whether this work that Aziraphale did led him to know much more about what was going on than Crowley did. “Crowley?”

Aziraphale’s voice was small and uneven, and Crowley opened his eyes and rolled his head over to look at him. Aziraphale’s eyes were glistening as though he were about to cry.

“Yeah?” Crowley encouraged gently.

“May I please take your hand?” Aziraphale asked timidly, his eyes fixed on Crowley’s hand, which was resting on his chest.

“Seriously? Erm... I mean... yeah, of course. Of course you can.”

Aziraphale drew in a deep breath and tentatively reached out, Crowley lifting his own hand and meeting him in the middle. Aziraphale clasped Crowley’s hand tightly and squeezed his eyes shut. Aziraphale’s hand was warm, preternaturally so, and Crowley could feel that warmth flowing up his arm and into his body from where their hands were linked. Aziraphale furrowed his brow and then opened his eyes, seeming not to look _at_ Crowley but instead to look _into_ him, and Crowley shrank bank against the ground under the intensity of that stare. Aziraphale drew in a deep, shuddering breath.

“Hey, it’s all right,” Crowley soothed, stroking his thumb over the back of Aziraphale’s hand. “I mean, I know it isn’t, of course it isn’t all right. But I’m here, ok? Whatever you need, just tell me. I’ll do anything. Please tell me how I can help.”

“Do you really mean that?” Aziraphale croaked.

“Yeah, of course I do! What can I do? How can I help? Would you like a hug?” Crowley ventured, more desperate than ever to actually wrap his arms around Aziraphale, to somehow squeeze his adoration into him, to give him the love and comfort that he deserved more than anyone Crowley had ever known.

Aziraphale nodded. “Yes. Yes, I’d like that.”

Without a moment’s hesitation, Crowley reached out and pulled Aziraphale towards him, enveloping him in a tight embrace, drawing Aziraphale as close to him as was physically possible. It felt amazing, better than Crowley could have ever imagined, Aziraphale was so soft and warm and inviting and _real_. Crowley’s hands clutched at his back possessively. He never wanted to let go.

“You’re perfect, Crowley,” Aziraphale murmured near his ear, tentatively reaching his own arms up to wrap around Crowley. “I’m so glad I found you.”

Crowley relaxed his grip and pulled away just enough to see Aziraphale’s expression, one of unabashed awe, admiration and affection. Crowley’s lips parted as though to speak, but no words emerged. Aziraphale’s hands ghosted over his back as though he were touching something entirely unfamiliar, exploring with his fingertips, searching, _seeking_... finding.

_Is this actually going to happen? Is there any way he could he actually want me?_

Aziraphale leaned forward and tilted his head, resting it on Crowley’s shoulder.

“How does that feel?” Crowley murmured softly against Aziraphale’s hair, trailing his hands soothingly up and down his back.

“Perfect,” Aziraphale whispered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote some fluff! :-) I hope you're enjoying this so far! <3 I'd love to know what you think is going to happen...


	6. I found you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley wakes up to an unexpected presence in his bedroom in the middle of the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was originally aiming for sweet, but at best I'd say this is bittersweet. I'm so sorry my fluff-loving friends! Bless you all for sticking with this, I'll be posting my fluffy Christmas story next week which will hopefully make up for it. <3

Triggered by stimuli that couldn’t be accounted for, Crowley’s eyes burst open and he squinted against an unexplained soft, flickering light illuminating his bedroom. Crowley’s muscles tensed, his senses on high alert, detecting a presence in the room with him. His heart was pounding in his chest, and his head whipped around instinctively to confront the intruder.

“ _Aziraphale_?” he gasped. “What the _fuck_ are you doing in my bedroom?” Crowley scrabbled around, tangling himself in the blankets, finally succeeding in dragging himself into a seated position on the bed, his back resting against the headboard and his lungs squeaking as he struggled to get his breath back.

Aziraphale froze and gaped at him, clutching a box of matches in both hands at his waist. It was dark outside, it must still have been the middle of the night, the unusual light in the room emanating from a series of candles that Aziraphale had placed around the bed. Aziraphale swallowed and looked at Crowley with an expression that was difficult to read. Crowley’s brain was gradually waking up, clearing the fog induced by sleep and the restrictive focus induced by adrenaline.

"Crowley..."

As his mind cleared, Crowley tried to interpret the scenario he was being confronted with: Aziraphale in his bedroom, the two of them alone as though engaged in a secret midnight rendezvous, with Aziraphale lighting candles all around them. As Crowley’s breathing settled, he looked into Aziraphale’s eyes, a spark of electricity skittering down his spine. There was only one explanation for Aziraphale’s actions, and Crowley was desperate to vanquish the uncertainty he could see in his eyes, to repair any damage he’d done with his harsh instinctive reaction to the situation.

“I mean, I’m not saying I don’t want you here... I’m _really_ not saying that! I just... you know... you could’ve warned me? I mean, I don’t mean _warned_ me, obviously, this is... wow... I am _very_ pleased to see you, it’s just... I’ll need a minute to...” Crowley rambled, pressing his palm against his chest and taking a deep breath. This couldn’t actually be happening. There was _no way_ this was actually happening, and yet clearly it _was_. Aziraphale was in Crowley’s _bedroom_ in the middle of the night lighting candles, and it was the most romantic, exhilarating moment Crowley had ever experienced in his life.

“Crowley, I’m so sorry,” Aziraphale whispered.

“Don’t be sorry!” Crowley implored, keeping his voice low to avoid waking the guest in the neighbouring room. He scooted towards the edge of the bed, bringing him closer to where Aziraphale stood. “I’m totally into this, just give me a second to wake up, ok?”

Aziraphale’s face twitched and he returned to his previous task, striking a match and crouching down to light another candle. Crowley peered over the side of the bed, which was apparently completely _surrounded_ by candles, and watched as Aziraphale touched the flame of the match to the wick, appreciating the way the candlelight cast dancing shadows over Aziraphale’s face, highlighting his soft features and those plump, inviting lips. His hair shone like a halo around his head, and he was still, even now, wearing his ridiculous old-fashioned outfit. He hadn’t even removed that _unjustifiably_ sexy tartan bowtie, not that Crowley was complaining.

“Aziraphale,” Crowley breathed. “Come here.”

“I need to finish lighting the candles.”

Crowley could see that Aziraphale only had one candle left to light, but he really didn’t want to wait any longer.

“ _Aziraphale_.” Crowley shuffled even closer to the edge of the bed and reached out, circling his fingers around Aziraphale’s wrist and pulling him towards the bed, succeeding at tugging him down to sit beside him. “Hi,” he whispered with a sweet smile, dragging his body into a more upright position to reduce the distance between them. He ran his hand tenderly through Aziraphale’s hair and leaned in close to whisper in his ear, “I take it there’s a spare copy of the key to this room?”

“Of course, we have a spare copy of every key in case one gets lost.”

“Mmmhmm.” Crowley shifted his hips, scooting forward to bring them even closer, and brushed his cheek gently against Aziraphale’s as he whispered again in his ear. “Good thinking.”

“Crowley, you’re very kind, but you really shouldn’t be so nice to me. I am very sorry to intrude on you like this.”

“You’re not intruding,” Crowley objected softly. “It’s a very nice surprise to wake up to.” Crowley rubbed the tip of his nose affectionately across Aziraphale’s cheek, and then hovered his lips over the soft, inviting flesh there, listening to the sound of his own breath flowing in and out, in and out. One hand found its way to Aziraphale’s hip, resting gently there as Crowley smoothed over the velvety fabric of that old-fashioned waistcoat with his thumb.

Crowley paused, his lips barely grazing Aziraphale’s skin, waiting long enough to ensure that he hadn’t somehow got the wrong idea, to give Aziraphale the chance to say something or to pull away if he’d changed his mind about this. Aziraphale leaned into him, closing the infinitesimal distance that had remained between them, and Crowley smiled before pressing his lips against Aziraphale’s cheek, a kiss that was delicate, lingering and reverent.

Aziraphale let out a gasp and hunched forward, panting softly. Crowley blinked and moved away, withdrawing his hand from Aziraphale’s hip, using it instead to tenderly cradle his jaw.

“Did that feel good?” Crowley murmured seductively. He watched the bob of Aziraphale’s throat as he swallowed thickly before nodding in response. Crowley smiled, drawing a deep breath into the scarred depths of his rattling lungs; he’d never affected anyone so intensely with a simple kiss on the cheek before. Crowley felt like he was floating, existing in an atmosphere of untainted serenity induced by the flickering candlelight and the silence of the retreat, broken only by Aziraphale’s quiet gasps. It was undoubtedly the most erotic experience of Crowley’s life, and his lips parted involuntarily, his eyes raking over Aziraphale with awe.

Crowley smoothed his thumb over Aziraphale’s cheek and then slid his hand over his nape and up into his hair, teasing the silky strands between his fingers, softer than he could have ever imagined. Aziraphale shuddered beneath his touch, and arousal spiked deep in Crowley’s abdomen.

“Tell me what you want, angel. Tell me what I can do for you.”

“You’re the one,” Aziraphale breathed, leaning into Crowley’s touch. “You’re the one who’s going to save humanity.”

Crowley barked out a laugh, a harsh, grating sound that momentarily disrupted the intimacy and romance of the quiet, candlelit bedroom.

“That’s sweet that you have faith in me. I’ll do my best to do _something_ when I leave here, you know I will. But I meant, what can I do for you _right now_? More of this?” Crowley drawled, ghosting kisses along Aziraphale’s cheek and every inch of his neck that was accessible above his tightly buttoned-up collar. “How does that feel?”

Crowley drank in the sound of Aziraphale’s gentle moans and his soft, gasping breaths, darting his tongue out to taste his skin, desperately wanting more, but summoning a strength he would have doubted he possessed to restrain himself from taking things too far, too fast.

“It feels nice,” Aziraphale sighed.

“ _Nice_? Ok, I’ll take that,” Crowley chuckled, nuzzling Aziraphale’s neck. “God, your skin’s so soft and warm. I want to feel more of you, but to be honest this outfit of yours is pretty hot. Do you mind if I try to find a way under it?” he teased, running his hand lightly down Aziraphale’s back and toying with the hem of his waistcoat.

“This is... I’ve never...” Aziraphale began, and Crowley withdrew again.

“You’ve never... what?” Crowley prompted, but Aziraphale didn’t continue, he just clasped his hands together in front of himself again and wrung them together. “You’ve never... done anything like this?”

“No, I haven’t.”

Crowley wasn’t sure whether or not to be surprised. On the one hand it was incomprehensible that someone as perfect as Aziraphale could have gone more than forty years without anyone wanting to be close to him like this, unless it wasn’t something that _Aziraphale_ had wanted, although he certainly _seemed_ to want it now. On the other hand, it explained why Aziraphale hadn’t realised that as romantic as it might be, it was also a little strange to break into someone’s room and surround them with candles as a means of coming onto them. Again, not that Crowley was complaining.

“Well, I’d like to be close to you. Would you like that?”

“I would always feel honoured to be close to you. I’ve seen into your soul, Crowley. You are remarkable,” Aziraphale praised, and Crowley squinted at him. If he were to be entirely honest, Crowley had pictured himself and Aziraphale sharing an _intimate moment_ on more than one occasion, but in his mind it had never gone like this. Crowley’s instinct was to tell Aziraphale that he was wrong, that he was nothing special, but this was hardly the time to rehash that argument. “I’ve never felt anything like this.”

“Like what?” Crowley asked softly.

“The way I feel when I’m with you. You’re so special. Your soul is unique, and yet I found you. I _found_ you, Crowley, and we’re going to make it right. We’re going to make everything right again.”

“We’ll do everything we can,” Crowley smiled sweetly, rubbing his hand affectionately over Aziraphale’s lower back. “But for now, will you maybe just let me take care of _you_?”

“That isn’t... it’s _my_ job to...” Aziraphale tried, his brow furrowing with consternation.

“Do you want to just lie here with me for a while?” Crowley offered, floundering in this uncharted territory. Aziraphale clearly wanted _something_ from him, but he wasn’t really sure what it was. If there had been literally any other explanation for Aziraphale appearing in his bedroom in the middle of the night and surrounding him with candles, Crowley might have taken the time to consider that he might have misread the situation.

“I don’t have much time,” Aziraphale whispered sadly.

“It’s the middle of the night! We’ll be quiet; no one will know you’re here. It’s our little secret, ok? Like your pocket watch,” Crowley winked. “Please, angel, lie here with me.”

Crowley scooted back across the bed and pulled the blanket with him, making room for Aziraphale to climb in. Aziraphale sighed and seemed to consider it for a moment, before lifting his legs up onto the bed and lying back.

“You could take your shoes off,” Crowley suggested lightly.

“I don’t have much time,” Aziraphale repeated.

“There’s somewhere else you need to be in the middle of the night?” Crowley teased, folding the blanket back over so that it covered Aziraphale as well. Under the covers, one of Crowley’s hands began examining the velvety smoothness of Aziraphale’s waistcoat again, fingertips tracing patterns that may have resembled hearts across the fabric and around the buttons.

“Soon, yes.”

“ _Really_? Is this something with your other job?”

“Yes, I’m afraid it is.”

“ _Fucking hell_ at this time of night?” Crowley hissed, then his stomach lurched as realisation washed over him. “Wait a minute... Are you not coming back? Is _that_ why you came here tonight?”

Aziraphale may not have answered with words, but the way his eyes glistened in the candlelight gave Crowley all the response he needed. A soft, aching groan escaped from the back of Crowley’s throat and he squeezed his eyes shut, his heart sinking in his chest. He had come to realise that it wasn’t the _retreat_ that had granted him a reprieve, it was _Aziraphale_ , and now that their time together was coming to an end, Crowley would shortly need to face whatever retribution the world saw fit to deliver unto him when he left here.

“What do you want, angel? I’ll do anything for you,” Crowley whispered frantically.

“May I take your hand again?”

Crowley let out a long, shuddering sigh, his eyes clouded with moisture.

“Yes, Aziraphale. Yes, _of course_ you can.”

They both reached out towards each other under the blanket, their hands colliding somewhere in the middle, and Aziraphale’s fingers encircled Crowley’s hand in a powerful grip. Crowley closed his eyes, overwhelmed by the warmth that Aziraphale exuded, the way admiration and affection seemed to pour out of him and flow into Crowley’s body from where their hands were linked. Crowley had never experienced anything like it.

“I knew it,” Aziraphale whispered. “I wish you could see what I see in you.” A single tear escaped Crowley’s eye and tracked down his cheek onto the pillow. “I want you to know something. You don’t need to worry about the children in the mines. I took care of it.”

“What do you mean you _took care of it_?”

“The tunnels have been reinforced, the air is being purified, and the relevant companies are now paying those families a fair and proper wage. It may not have solved all of the problems, but it’s a start, at least.”

“You’re not serious?”

“Of course I am.”

“What? _How_? How did you...? Was _that_ part of this other job that you do?”

“Yes, it was.”

“ _Holy shit_.”

“Yes, rather,” Aziraphale chuckled, seeming genuinely amused.

“No, I mean, sorry, I mean, wow! You _really_ made that happen?” Aziraphale nodded, and Crowley bit back the words that wanted to tumble from his lips. “I... I don’t know what to say.”

“I did it for _you_ , because of how much you cared. We can make a difference, Crowley, it’s just a case of reaching the right people.”

Something cracked open inside Crowley’s chest, releasing waves of intense relief, gratitude, and love... _of course_ it was love, and he clutched his arms protectively across his body, instinctively trying to stop it all from bursting free.

_Please don’t leave me, angel. Please don’t go._

“You’re incredible,” Crowley choked out, scrubbing roughly at the tears escaping his eyes.

“No, I am just what I am. _You_ are incredible.”

“I want you,” Crowley groaned, all of the emotion inside of him coalescing into a desperate need to be as close as humanly possible to Aziraphale. He raised himself up onto his elbows and used every molecule of restraint he possessed to maintain some distance between them, carding his hands reverently through Aziraphale’s soft curls. “Please may I kiss you?” he begged.

“I think I’d enjoy that.”

“I’ll try to make sure that you do,” Crowley drawled, his voice deep and low, aiming to convey more confidence than he felt. He tenderly cupped Aziraphale’s face and lowered himself down slowly to press a delicate kiss to his lips. Crowley’s eyes fluttered closed, and he focused on the sensation of their warm breath mingling and the plush firmness of Aziraphale’s lips against his own as his kissed him again, and again, and again... Crowley’s kisses were chaste, but each a little more insistent than the last, and each a tempting, tantalising taste that left him wanting more.

The steady, rhythmic rise and fall of Aziraphale’s chest became more pronounced, and his hand snaked up to rest gently, hesitantly even, on Crowley’s shoulder as Crowley kissed him once again, pressing his lips more firmly against Aziraphale’s, lingering a little longer, urging him to yield. The hand that had, moments before, tenderly cupped Aziraphale’s face, was now pressing down hard on his shoulder, holding him against the bed, an attempt at release for the need that pulsed within him. Crowley ran the tip of his tongue along Aziraphale’s bottom lip, drawing a gasp from him in response. Aziraphale’s lips parted, and Crowley seized his opportunity to suck gently on Aziraphale’s bottom lip, drawing another moan from him, but he still didn’t reciprocate, and Crowley wondered whether he was waiting for him to ask.

“Please kiss me, angel,” Crowley breathed against his lips, and Aziraphale’s eyes fluttered open, contemplating Crowley for a moment before he smiled, lifting his head up from the pillow to bring their lips together once again. Crowley moaned and grasped the fabric of Aziraphale’s cardigan at his shoulder, his tongue darting out and Aziraphale’s lips parting in invitation, and the whole world and all of the anguish it had inflicted on him disappeared as Crowley became suspended in that moment. Nothing Crowley had ever experienced compared to this. It was like Aziraphale had taken a match to him, and every inch of his body had burst into flame, and he was dizzy with it, delirious, burning, but finally at peace.

Aziraphale kissed him like a scholar applying his knowledge for the first time, experimenting, observing, adjusting, responding... quickly learning how to render Crowley breathless with desire. Crowley lowered his forehead to Aziraphale’s shoulder, taking a moment to come back down to Earth and to let his lungs recover.

“What else? What else do you want me to do?” Aziraphale whispered, stroking his hand tenderly down Crowley’s back, and Crowley knew immediately what he would ask for, something he had fantasised about more times than he could count.

“I want you to hold me,” he panted against Aziraphale’s shoulder before lifting himself up and encouraging Aziraphale onto his side so that he could snuggle up against him, his back pressed against Aziraphale’s plush stomach. Crowley’s hands found Aziraphale’s and tugged on them until his arms were wrapped around him, just like he had imagined so many times. Crowley squeezed Aziraphale’s arms against him and wriggled his hips, slotting himself into position as close to Aziraphale as he possibly could. In this position, Crowley would have been able to deduce immediately whether Aziraphale was physically aroused, and wasn’t really sure how to feel when he discovered that he wasn’t. Aziraphale tightened his arms around Crowley and planted soft kisses to the back of his neck, and Crowley sighed and drew his head to his chest, exposing more of his nape to Aziraphale’s lips and kissing the back of Aziraphale’s hand that rested there. Aziraphale moved his hand in response, smoothing his fingertips over Crowley’s silk pyjamas.

“This is incredibly soft,” Aziraphale murmured approvingly.

“ _You’re_ incredibly soft,” Crowley mumbled against Aziraphale’s arm. “This feels amazing.”

“Yes, it certainly does.”

Crowley smiled so widely he was sure Aziraphale could feel it against his skin even through the fabric of his shirt. He took Aziraphale’s hand in his, pressing another kiss to it, and sighed contentedly. Maybe it would be ok. Crowley wasn’t really sure how much worse things had got over the past six weeks, but at least he’d had this, a moment in which he felt completely safe, protected and cared for. Aziraphale was going to leave, but maybe he would write down his contact information on Crowley’s pamphlet, and Crowley would finally have received the kick he needed to actually leave here and face the real world. It would be worth it, for the chance to speak to Aziraphale again.

Aziraphale shuffled away and Crowley mourned the loss instantly. He rolled over and found Aziraphale looking deep in thought, wiping moisture from his hand, the hand Crowley had been resting his face on. Crowley scrubbed at his eyes, brushing away the rest of the tears that he had ignored.

“Sorry,” he mumbled.

“Why are you crying?” Aziraphale asked softly.

“Just overwhelmed, I guess.”

“I want to make you happy, Crowley.”

“I _am_ happy. You make me very happy. Being here with you, like this, it’s a dream come true.”

Aziraphale smiled and pressed down gently on Crowley’s shoulder, encouraging him to lie back flat on the bed, reversing their positions from earlier as he claimed Crowley’s lips again in a breathtaking kiss. Crowley shifted on the bed, desperate for more, as Aziraphale continued to kiss him, now slow, precise and languid. It was _insanely_ arousing, and Crowley was eager for Aziraphale to feel the same way.

“What about you? Is this good for you?” Crowley asked as they separated, unable to mask his uncertainty.

“No Earthly pleasure has ever felt this good. Thank you for sharing this experience with me,” Aziraphale murmured, tenderly caressing Crowley’s cheek.

“Tell me what else you want, angel. _Please_.”

“Anything you want to show me, while we still have time.”

“Anything?” Crowley questioned, and Aziraphale nodded eagerly. Crowley drew in a deep breath, the bottom of his lungs rattling in response, reaching out to finally pull Aziraphale’s bowtie loose and undo at least a _few_ buttons, sucking and nipping his way down to the hollow of Aziraphale’s throat. He shifted closer to Aziraphale, grinding his hips against him, desperately seeking friction.

“Oh,” Aziraphale gasped.

“Ok?”

“Oh, yes, of course. I'm sorry, I should have made an effort.” Crowley let out a low growl in response.

“You're kidding, right? You've done so much for me! Now you just need to let me worship you." Crowley frantically tugged Aziraphale’s shirt free from his trousers and slid his hands up underneath it. “ _Fuck_ , you feel incredible.”

A sound began to materialise in the distance, muffled voices perhaps, but Crowley barely registered it, consumed by the sensation of Aziraphale’s plush flesh beneath his hands. He kicked at the blanket and managed to swing his leg over Aziraphale, straddling him, moaning at the feel of Aziraphale, now hard beneath him.

“You _want_ me,” Crowley breathed, disbelieving, more tears gathering in his eyes.

“Of course I do.” The distant voices outside were gradually becoming _less_ distant, morphing into something Crowley recognised, but didn’t want to. They were safe here, it would just be for information, surely. They wouldn’t need to evacuate. They still had time...

_Please say we still have time._

“Thank you so much, angel. I’ve never felt this way about anyone. I’m so glad I found you.”

“ _I_ found _you_ ,” Aziraphale corrected.

The beeping started. That irritating, mind-piercing beeping that Crowley had heard far too many times, but it was too far away for him to care about. Not that he didn’t have sympathy for those affected, but this moment belonged to him and Aziraphale, and he’d be damned if he let the harsh reality of the outside world intrude.

“Yes, you did,” Crowley smiled, leaning down to kiss Aziraphale once again, but Aziraphale placed his palm flat on Crowley’s chest to hold him back.

“The candle...” he whispered, peering over the bed towards the single candle that remained unlit.

Crowley tilted his head and smiled affectionately. They could have been _anywhere_ and this would still have been perfect for Crowley, all he needed was Aziraphale. But if it meant that much to Aziraphale to create the perfect atmosphere, Crowley wouldn’t deny him. He could never deny him anything.

“I love your attention to detail, it’s so fucking sexy,” Crowley teased, trailing his fingertips down the front of Aziraphale’s waistcoat and withdrawing to give him room to move.

“I’m so sorry Crowley, I’ve run out of time,” Aziraphale said hurriedly, shuffling to the edge of the bed, rising from it and then crouching to the floor, disappearing from Crowley’s view. Crowley heard the strike of the match and heard the whoosh of the flame that materialised.

“Please don’t say that. You don’t have to go _now_?”

“I’m so sorry.”

Crowley reached out to him, and was surrounded by a blinding flash of brilliant white light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Was that sad? Sweet? Bittersweet? I really can't tell anymore. Maybe I should work on the yoga instructor Crowley fic... After I've given you a resolution to this thing of course! <3


	7. Be not inhospitable to strangers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In Heaven, Aziraphale presents his evidence that humans can get better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Good Place vibes here!

Aziraphale materialised in Heaven and anxiously spun his head around, checking in all directions to make sure they were alone. Crowley was lying on the floor unconscious, with only the thin silk fabric of his pyjamas to cover him. His short, copper hair was mussed from both sleep and Aziraphale’s own attentions just moments ago, and he appeared both stunningly beautiful and agonisingly vulnerable.

Aziraphale stopped making an effort and hurriedly fixed his own clothes, trying not to think about the feel of Crowley’s fingertips at his neck as he’d untied his bowtie, his hands grasping at his shirt to tug it free from his trousers... How could he have allowed himself to become so distracted? Now they were in Heaven and Aziraphale hadn’t even explained to Crowley what was happening. He’d never even told him who he really was, and although Aziraphale could offer several excuses for not doing so, he feared that in reality it was simply out of cowardice. He had _wanted_ to ask Crowley if he was prepared to do this, but in the end he had acted without Crowley’s consent. He tried to justify it, that taking the choice of one man away to save all of humanity was the right thing to do, and although he didn’t have time right now to fully debate with himself the inherent value of free will and whether or not the ends really do justify the means, his decision certainly didn’t sit well with him.

Aziraphale sat down on the floor beside Crowley, lifting his head up into his lap and tenderly smoothing his hair as best he could.

“Crowley,” he whispered, tentatively touching his cheek. “Crowley, please wake up.”

Aziraphale’s heart was hammering at an unbearable pace, but he focused on the rhythmic rise and fall of Crowley’s chest, his quiet, restful breaths somewhat reassuring, but he _really_ needed to wake up now.

“Crowley... please?” Aziraphale begged, grasping Crowley’s shoulder and shaking him gently, and suddenly Crowley’s eyes flashed open. Gone was the peace that Crowley had been exuding as he regained consciousness and struggled to draw breath. Aziraphale could hear the squeaking that emerged from Crowley’s lungs with each inhale, a sign of the damage his body had been unable to repair.

“I can’t breathe,” Crowley gasped.

“It’s all right,” Aziraphale soothed, placing his hand firmly on Crowley’s sternum and healing as much of the damage to his lungs as he could, the fibres of scars unstitching themselves, replaced with unblemished, healthy tissue. Aziraphale tried to crush the building ache of regret in the pit of his stomach. He really should have done this for Crowley before now, how could he have let him suffer needlessly? He could have done this, if only he had told Crowley who he really was. Crowley’s breathing settled, each breath now deep and unencumbered by the remnants of battles lost in youth.

“What the...? What happened? Where are we?” Crowley asked frantically, rolling his head away from Aziraphale’s lap and pressing his palms to the floor to push himself up to sit beside him. Crowley’s eyebrows knitted together and he pressed his palm to his chest, taking a few experimental breaths. He looked so lost and confused, and Aziraphale wanted to tell him everything. He _had_ to tell him everything.

“We’re... I’m afraid I have a lot to tell you. I’m so sorry I waited until now. I just didn’t quite know how to...”

Crowley reached out, steadying himself by grasping Aziraphale’s shoulders.

“Aziraphale what’s happening? I feel weird. I don’t remember... weren’t we in bed together? Did I take something?”

“Crowley, please listen to me. I’m so sorry to just... I really should have spoken to you before bringing you here, but I’m afraid I ran out of time. Oh, Crowley, I’m so sorry.”

“Aziraphale, what’s going on? Where the fuck are we?” Crowley demanded, desperation and fear lacing his voice. There was no subtle way to say it, no way to ease Crowley into knowing the truth, so Aziraphale took a deep breath and forced himself to confess.

“We’re in Heaven, Crowley. I’m afraid I’m... I’m not actually human. I’m an angel. Just like you said,” Aziraphale smiled, an emotionless smile that inevitably failed to bring any levity to the grave situation that Aziraphale had dragged Crowley involuntarily into.

Crowley scrunched his eyes closed and groaned, scrubbing his hand through his hair and undoing Aziraphale’s prior efforts to smarten it. “Ok, I definitely took something. Last time I had this trip there were clouds. If you’re in my head you know what I took, what was it? Wait a minute, I met you _weeks_ ago, right? You _are_ real aren’t you? Aziraphale, I’m confused.”

“I know, I’m sorry, I am _so_ sorry, but yes I’m real, and this is all real, and I need your help, Crowley. I meant what I said, that you’re the one to save humanity. You said you would do anything... and I know I have taken considerable liberties here, as this is _clearly_ not what you meant, but Crowley, Heaven and Hell have joined forces to wipe out humanity and I need to convince them to stop. I need to show them that there is hope for humanity, and that hope is you! You are _perfect_ , you have learnt to be better, you care so much, you are so, so good...”

“My brain has experienced its fair share of, let’s say _pharmaceutical agents_ , and I’ve got to say it’s never come up with anything like this.”

“Crowley, this is real! Please, I need you to believe me, we don’t have much time,” Aziraphale insisted, looking over his shoulder and listening for footsteps. He took a deep breath and grasped Crowley’s arms. “Crowley, please listen to me. The candles I put around you, I created a transportation portal to bring us here,” Aziraphale tried, searching Crowley’s eyes for a sign that he had accepted the reality with which he was being confronted. “You wondered how I could have helped the children in the mines, remember? I’m an _angel_ , Crowley.”

Crowley’s face twitched and he twisted his head around to take in more of his surroundings.

“This looks a bit like my old office but without the fake plants. Why would Heaven look like a fancy corporate head office?”

“The origin of bureaucracy, I’m afraid.” Crowley made a sound of vague acceptance of this, and this allowed Aziraphale to hope for a moment that he was beginning to actually accept this reality, rather than just acknowledging the logic of what Aziraphale had said. “I have to make them see the truth, but I’m afraid that Gabriel won’t listen. First I need to speak directly to God.”

“Gabriel as in...? Oh, never mind,” Crowley tried but almost immediately gave up, his head collapsing into his hands as he forcefully rubbed his temples with the heels of his hands.

“Once Gabriel and the others look into your soul, they’ll see that I was right, that there is hope for humanity! Will you let them do that please, Crowley?”

“Back up a second...” Crowley began, the lines across his forehead deepening. “Let’s say this is real, and everything I’ve always believed has been wrong, ok, fair enough. Your plan is to speak to God? _Actual_ _God_? As in the all-mighty, all-seeing, all-knowing _God_?”

“Yes.”

“And what is it that you could _possibly_ say to an all-knowing God who, and I do think this point is worth dwelling on, _knows_ _everything_ , has thought of everything, sees everything...”

“I’m not entirely sure She sees _everything_ , there was an incident with a flaming sword once...” Aziraphale interjected.

“-- _created_ everything...” Crowley continued.

“Well, technically She didn’t create _everything_ , we angels had a part to play in...”

“My _point_ is, what could you possibly say that _God_ hasn’t already thought of? How could you possibly expect to change Their mind?”

“Maybe God is just too far removed from humanity to really understand what it’s like. I have to try, Crowley! I have to do _something_ , it’s been my job to protect humanity since the beginning, I can’t just give up now!”

“You’ve seen the world, angel! It’s already gone to Hell anyway. Even if you stop them from wiping us out, we’ll just end up doing it ourselves. There’s no coming back from where we’ve got to.”

“Crowley, please let me try?” Aziraphale implored, looking at Crowley with pleading eyes. Crowley’s mouth hung open and he just stared at Aziraphale for a while, his eyes travelling over him, searching for something that he never seemed to find. Aziraphale considered manifesting his wings, although he decided that might have the opposite effect than intended in trying to persuade Crowley that all of this was real and not induced by some kind of _pharmaceutical agent_.

Eventually Crowley gave a small, silent nod, although his expression and the shrug that accompanied it indicated he still wasn’t convinced. In fairness, neither was Aziraphale. He had to acknowledge that there was a chance his plan wouldn’t work, that no matter what evidence he provided their minds might already be made up. But Crowley was the perfect example of a human who had overcome hard times, had knowingly done wrong but had repented, who only wanted to keep becoming something better and to play a part in saving the world, and who was just so completely wonderful that Aziraphale couldn’t imagine _anyone_ seeking his destruction.

Aziraphale cupped Crowley’s face tenderly in his hands and smiled in an attempt to reassure him, then stood and faced out into the cold, open space in front of him, pressing his hands together in a gesture of prayer before calling out to God. His instincts, or perhaps more his desires, kept tempting him to turn around, seeking Crowley, but he stood steadfast and repeated his words of prayer.

It was not God, but the Metatron that appeared to him, its ethereal, shimmering head filling the space before him.

“I am the Metatron," it announced. "Why have you sought my counsel, Aziraphale?”

“I was actually looking to speak to God,” Aziraphale protested sheepishly.

“To speak to me is to speak to God.”

At that moment, Aziraphale heard footsteps approaching from behind, and turned to find Gabriel and Beelzebub heading towards him. Gabriel’s face was contorted with anger, and Aziraphale clenched his fists tightly and clutched them to his stomach. This was it. This was the only chance he would have, and although it wasn’t what he had hoped for, he had no choice but to take it. He turned back to the Metatron, summoning all of his courage and resolve, praying for the eloquence to convey everything he needed to say.

“We shouldn’t be destroying humanity! Humanity is God’s greatest creation! We should be helping them! They are capable of so many wonderful things, and maybe things are bad now but they can get better! _Humans_ can get better, and it should be our job to protect them and guide them!” he urged, but elicited no response from the intimidating, floating figure before him.

“Aziraphale, what is this? For Heaven’s sake, what do you think you’re doing?” Gabriel challenged, and with still not even a flicker of a response from the Metatron, Aziraphale turned to address him.

“Gabriel, you said yourself that you hadn’t seen evidence that humans could get better, but I’ve found it! I have evidence!” Aziraphale gushed frantically, gesturing towards Crowley, who was now sat with his knees drawn up to his chest, his arms wrapped around them protectively. “This human...” Aziraphale continued, his voice soft and full of admiration, “Please, look into his soul and you will see that what I’m saying is true! He is so good, he is the very best of humanity, I am sure of it.”

“All humans are the same, Aziraphale,” Gabriel said dismissively. “That’s part of the problem, why the system isn’t working. They’re all as bad as each other. It’s time to start over.”

“No, you’re wrong!” Aziraphale cried. “This one is special!”

“He is no different than any other human, Aziraphale,” the Metatron’s deep, impassive voice echoed through the empty space around them.

“You’re wrong! Look into his soul, you will see it!” Aziraphale pleaded.

“It has been done,” the Metatron confirmed. “He is nothing special.”

“He _is_! He _is_ special, I can _feel_ it!”

“No, Aziraphale. What you are feeling is love. You love him,” the Metatron continued, its voice remaining level, callous, almost cruel.

“Of course I do, I love all of them!”

“You love this one differently.”

“But...” Aziraphale turned and looked hopelessly, desperately at Crowley, not expecting the expression of calm acceptance that had manifested on his face. Crowley shook his head gently.

“Aziraphale, they’re right, I’m nothing special.”

“That isn’t true!”

Crowley’s arms were still clutched around his knees, but he held out his palm, and Aziraphale took the gesture as an invitation to approach him. Aziraphale scowled at the Metatron and Gabriel, then sank down onto his knees beside Crowley, taking his offered hand.

“Yes, it is. It’s ok.”

“No, Crowley, you don’t understand! You _are_ special,” Aziraphale insisted, squeezing Crowley’s hand, letting all of his love flow into him.

“If you’re so insistent, perhaps you will allow me?” Gabriel sneered, reaching down to seize Crowley’s other hand tightly. Crowley winced, and Aziraphale’s teeth clenched, dizzy with the concurrent waves of rage and protectiveness that flowed through him. He bowed his head to conceal his reaction from Gabriel, recognising that inciting Gabriel’s anger would do nothing to serve his cause. Gabriel let out a derisive laugh, quickly releasing Crowley’s hand. Aziraphale claimed it in his own, now holding both of Crowley’s hands, running his thumbs over the back of them soothingly.

“ _This_ is the human you bring to Heaven to convince us to violate the divine plan?” he scoffed. “Not only is he nothing special, Aziraphale, he’s not even one of the better ones. Have you really let yourself become so corrupted by human feelings?”

“Crowley, don’t listen to them. You’re perfect,” Aziraphale whispered, focusing on Crowley, only on Crowley, unable to process the full consequences of what was unfolding around him, what would inevitably come to pass as a result of his failure.

“I’m more honoured than you can possibly imagine that you think I’m worthy of your love, angel, but, hey, look at me... it’s ok. I know this is new to you, but what you’re feeling, it will pass. You’ve only known me for such a short time, you don’t know who I really am. You can’t really love me.”

“But I _do_ , Crowley. I took your hand and peered into your _soul_. I’m so sorry for doing that without talking to you about it first, I was running out of time and I didn’t know what else to do. But I _have_ seen who you truly are and you _are_ special and I _do_ love you.”

“Aziraphale, you’re an _angel_. How long have you even been alive? Billions of years?”

“Of course not! I’m not too much over six thousand years old.”

“ _Six thousand years_?”

“Yes, and in six thousand years I have never felt this way about anyone.”

“That’s just because you haven’t been _looking_ for it, Aziraphale. If you looked into the souls of others, I assure you, you would find billions more worthy of your love than I am. I promise you, with absolute certainty, that there really is nothing special about me, in any way.”

“Please stop saying that.”

“If you persuaded them to stop the destruction of humanity, then what? You’d come back to Earth with me? And then what? How long do you really think I’m going to survive with the world the way it is?”

“I... Crowley...”

“Enough of thizzz!” Beelzebub grunted, making their voice heard for the first time. “We need to get on with the dezzztruction of humanity!”

“You don’t have to destroy them!” Aziraphale protested, rising to his feet to square up to those he was supposed to see as _colleagues_.

“Look, Aziraphale,” Gabriel stepped forward and clapped his hands onto his shoulders. “The humans are out of control. If we don’t put a stop to them now things are only going to get worse. It’s too complicated now; you’ve seen the stacks of paperwork. There are still billions of humans in Purgatory that we don’t know what to do with.”

“And if you eliminate the humans on Earth now you’ll have another nine billion to try to manage all at once! Imagine the paperwork _that_ will generate!”

“Yes, but at least we’ll stop them from... _reproducing_ ,” Gabriel blanched even at the thought of it. “It will be less work in the long run.”

“And then what? It’ll all just start over? Until this all happens again and we’re faced with exactly the same problem? Wouldn’t it be better to sort it out _now_?” Aziraphale argued. “This human _is_ special, and so what if I love him? Doesn’t that say something?”

“Aziraphale, you need to get past this. This is just a normal human. He’s done good things and he’s done bad things, just like the rest of them.”

“Isn’t that the point? Human beings aren’t entirely good or bad, so why should they be judged so when they die? The way we do things doesn’t make sense for the world!”

“No, the _world_ doesn’t make sense for the way we do things, that’s why we’re starting over,” Gabriel pointed out calmly. “It’s God’s will, isn’t it?” he added, with a glance up towards the ghostly, floating figure behind Aziraphale.

“It is,” the Metatron confirmed. Aziraphale furrowed his brow and turned back around, frantically trying to think of something else he could say or do to fix this. He wouldn’t give up until he had tried everything.

“If I may ask, are you speaking with God at this very moment? Are you relaying Her messages?” he asked timidly.

“I speak the word of God.”

“Right, like a priest reads from the Bible, but...”

“God’s divine plan has been written for millennia.”

“You’re saying you’re not _actually_ speaking to God right now? So none of you know that this is actually God’s will! This plan that is written, if you don’t mind, could you tell us... what does it actually say?”

“That humanity shall become too complicated and that Heaven and Hell shall reunite to solve the problem,” the Metatron boomed.

“Ah yes, but to _solve the problem_ could simply indicate an organisational restructure? Don’t you think we’re always a bit quick to jump to ideas like _abject destruction_? _Gabriel_ ,” Aziraphale beseeched, finding the courage to closely approach his boss, “God created the humans and charged us with protecting them. What if you do this and you’re actually going against Her will? Surely you can’t risk that?”

Gabriel and Beelzebub shared a glance, and Beelzebub shrugged their shoulders, clearly unaffected.

“Gabriel, we can start to do things differently! God created a world of choices, challenged the humans to find balance. Maybe we _should_ all come together,” Aziraphale smiled at Beelzebub, who sneered at him in response, “but rather than all of us _against_ all of them, it should be all of us _receiving_ all of them, giving them a chance to continue to get better after they die. The world is not black and white, but neither is Heaven, nor Hell. Humans have had over six thousand years to change, and God would not have given them the capacity for such change did She not wish for it to happen. Perhaps it is _we_ that are being tested. Perhaps it is up to us to change with them now. Please consider it, Gabriel. You can’t destroy God’s greatest creation if you’re not _sure_ , not if there’s another way to do Her will.”

Aziraphale watched as Gabriel studied him, shrinking into himself and even bowing his head as a sign of deference to his boss, anxious not to upset him, not to give the impression he considered himself superior.

“ _Fine_ ,” Gabriel grunted, “but this is simply a _pause_ , and nothing to do with your ridiculous...” Gabriel gestured dismissively at Crowley, “ _evidence_. Beelzebub, we’ll need to arrange more meetings.”

Beelzebub huffed out a breath and rolled their eyes.

“So, Crowley and I are free to return to Earth?” Aziraphale asked hopefully. Gabriel’s face contorted, and he looked down on Aziraphale as though he were nothing but a foolish child.

“Aziraphale, there is no means by which a _human_ can return to Earth from Heaven,” he pointed out coldly.

“ _What_?”

“All is now settled. Beelzebub, take him,” the Metatron instructed.

“What? _No_! Why?”

“His soul is destined for Hell,” the Metatron explained.

“No! That’s impossible! Please, you can’t take him!” Aziraphale yelled desperately, reaching out for Crowley as Beelzebub seized his arm. “No! Please! This is all my fault!”

“Perhaps an organisational restructure _is_ called for, Aziraphale, but when I looked into his soul, there was no doubt where this one belongs under the _current_ system,” Gabriel smirked.

“No, please don’t do this! I brought him here, this is _my_ fault! At least let me go with him!”

“Aziraphale, you’re being ridiculous. Get the human out of here, Beelzebub,” Gabriel instructed with a dismissive wave of his hand.

“I don’t take orderzzz from you, Gabriel!” they buzzed harshly, their voice then softening. “Come on, angel,” they murmured with false sweetness, approaching him, Crowley stumbling along with them, their hand still wrapped forcefully around his arm. Aziraphale recoiled under Beelzebub’s penetrating stare. “What would you do to zzztop me from taking him? Would you fall? I would be commended by Satan himself were I to bring a prinzzzipality into our ranks.”

“Aziraphale...” Crowley croaked.

“Crowley, I’m so sorry! I know you’ll never be able to forgive me, but...”

“I _do_ forgive you, just like you forgave me. I would never have survived the virus, Aziraphale, not with things as they are. This was always going to happen sooner or later. I understand why you did what you did. You did the right thing, it’s ok.”

“It is absolutely not ok! You can’t just let them do this!” Aziraphale wasn’t entirely sure to whom he meant for that to be delivered, but it was Crowley who responded.

“I’ve learnt the hard way that sometimes we really do have to accept that we’re powerless. Look around, angel, what would you have me do?”

“The offer still standzzz, _angel_ ,” Beelzebub smirked.

“Don’t you dare!” Crowley pleaded, his eyes locking with Aziraphale’s. Beelzebub tightened their grip on his arm. “You did your best, Aziraphale. Let me go. It’s ok. I love you too.”

Aziraphale sobbed and fell to his knees as Beelzebub dragged Crowley down to Hell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry! There's still one chapter left..... <3


	8. Who we are

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale returns to his bookshop on Earth.

Aziraphale returned to Earth, his mind focusing entirely on the practicalities that needed to be seen to, trying to delay the moment when all of his thoughts and feelings about what had happened would inevitably overpower him. He returned to the retreat, making sure he would not be seen. He sent the holders of the burnt-down candles in Crowley’s bedroom _somewhere_ , he did not care where, and lovingly packed all of Crowley’s possessions into his suitcase. He retrieved Crowley’s watch, phone and mask from the locker, returned the bedroom key to its rightful place beneath the counter alongside its duplicate, and logged Crowley’s departure in the retreat’s computer.

Then, taking Crowley’s belongings with him, Aziraphale returned to the bookshop that had been his home for nearly two hundred and fifty years. He tucked Crowley’s suitcase away out of sight, unwilling to part with it but entirely unable to look at it for even a moment longer, and sat in his usual armchair. For the first time since the beginning of his assignment on Earth, he felt absolutely and overwhelmingly alone. The quiet of the bookshop, with the distant whirr of vehicles and the hustle and bustle of human life outside, had once provided sanctuary, but now felt gaping and hollow. The still, stale air roared in his ears, and he was truly aware of only one thing, a deep, unrelenting ache that permeated his entire body.

And yet, Aziraphale had got what he wanted. Heaven and Hell had paused their onslaught on humanity and were in the process of having _talks_ to establish a new system. A recent memo indicated that things were actually already looking quite hopeful on that front, but to Aziraphale, it felt as though the world had actually been destroyed.

Aziraphale miracled a letter to Tracy at the retreat, apologising for his hasty departure and wishing her well, but after that, he didn’t know what to do with himself. He’d been alone for centuries, never more content than when he was sat in his comfortable armchair with a nice glass of wine or a cup of cocoa, reading one of his favourite books, but none of these human pleasures were able to soothe his soul. Everything felt different. Suddenly, nothing seemed to mean anything if he could only experience it alone.

Worse than that, he had met a human, the most wonderful of humans, someone so thoughtful, generous and kind who had truly known darkness and had found his way to the light, and Aziraphale had cut his time on Earth short, condemning him to Hell. Aziraphale still couldn’t grasp how that decision had been made. Crowley was a good person, a truly good person, he certainly didn’t deserve such a fate. Aziraphale’s gut twisted as he wondered, had he left Crowley alone, let him continue his life on Earth, would he have survived and done enough to redeem himself, to secure him a place in Heaven? But who knew what it would take to be redeemed now, wasn’t that the point? At least when they had a new system in place, the humans would be treated more fairly... but would that apply to Crowley? Or would the souls already admitted to Heaven and Hell simply remain where they were?

Taking Crowley to Heaven had achieved _nothing_ , and every cell in Aziraphale’s body burned with regret. Crowley’s suffering was entirely meaningless, and Aziraphale was responsible for it, and he could never forgive himself, no matter what Crowley had said.

As spring turned into summer, the flood waters retreated, and the duck flu vaccine was deployed. At least the humans had been able to develop it quickly, far too much experience of having to do so under their belt. A technical challenge had been miraculously overcome (and Aziraphale had not received any condemnation for this from head office), which had seen chunks of one of the last remaining icebergs delivered to the areas where conflict had broken out over access to water.

For the most part, Aziraphale merely followed his routine. Quarantine protocols had been eased and customers, those who still craved the sensory experience of handling real books, had returned to Aziraphale’s shop, and he’d even let them buy a few things.

Another day over, Aziraphale locked the front door and turned the sign around to display that the shop was now closed, and settled in for another evening alone with his thoughts. Aziraphale had spent far too much time like this, only ever finding himself going around and around in circles, torn between two powerful but conflicting desires: to journey to Hell to try to help Crowley, and to respect Crowley’s request not to do so. He devoted himself to the good deeds and miracles that he knew would have meant most to Crowley, but was still tempted, almost unbearably so, to seek him out, even though the consequences would undoubtedly take away his ability to do the good in this world that he knew Crowley had wanted. He had not yet made a decision about what to do, but was that not in itself, in fact, a decision to do nothing?

The front door to the bookshop rattled, drawing Aziraphale from his thoughts.

“We’re closed!” he called out, but the door opened anyway, although Aziraphale had been sure that he had locked it, the old-fashioned bell above the door jangling in response. Aziraphale sighed and rebuilt the facade of composure he constructed to face each day before rising from his chair to confront the unwelcome customer. He stopped in his tracks when he saw the figure standing before him.

“Aziraphale... I found you.”

Aziraphale reached out to hold onto one of the bookshelves, needing to steady himself. His lips parted, but at first he couldn’t speak, the air had all been sucked from his lungs and his brain was insisting that his eyes must be mistaken.

“Crowley?” he managed, his voice nothing more than a timid whisper.

“Hi, angel.”

Aziraphale’s grip on the bookshelf tightened. The man standing in front of him _looked_ like Crowley (although his previously closely-cropped copper hair now fell in loose curls around his face and he had dark glasses covering his eyes), but his presence... he didn’t _feel_ like Crowley.

“It’s all right, Aziraphale, it’s me,” Crowley murmured, taking a few steps towards him. He _sounded_ like Crowley too, but Aziraphale could sense a darkness in him that hadn’t been there before. Aziraphale relinquished his hold on the shelf, tentatively approaching Crowley and allowing himself to focus on what he was sensing. His heart plummeted into his stomach.

“What did they do to you?” he croaked.

“I got a new job,” Crowley quipped facetiously.

“Crowley... you’re a _demon_.”

“Well, nyuhh... um... yeah, I guess.”

“That’s... that’s _impossible_. Hell couldn’t turn a human into a demon without help from...” Aziraphale glanced upwards and trailed off, thinking better of vocalising that particular truth, which would have meant having to contemplate all the implications that came with it.

“Yeah, they really do seem to be taking this _cooperation_ seriously.”

“Crowley, I’m so sorry, this is all my fault!”

“It’s fine. I’m fine. I can do miracles now,” Crowley shrugged, sweeping his hand up dramatically and clicking his fingers, manifesting a plate of crepes on top of a pile of books on one of Aziraphale’s small, round tables. Aziraphale’s eyes darted to the plate for a second before he focused again on Crowley.

“Crowley, this isn’t something to be taken lightly! Demons are... I mean, they...”

“They _what_? I’m still _me_ , Aziraphale. My soul had already been condemned to Hell. Besides, does it really matter _what_ I am? Isn’t it more important _who_ I am?”

“But why would they do this to you?”

“Honestly? Beelzebub thinks I can tempt you into something that would make you fall. They’ve never ‘ _recruited’_ an angel before, they think it’ll get them a commendation from Satan.”

Aziraphale shuddered at the thought that Gabriel, perhaps others, had been a part of this. Was this what Heaven wanted too? Is this what they thought he deserved as punishment for falling in love? But would even _Gabriel_ have had the power to do something like this?

“Is that why you’re here?” Aziraphale questioned nervously.

Crowley pushed his bottom lip out and shrugged. “S’why they think I’m here,” he smirked, his face then morphing into a much more sincere expression. He blew out a long breath. “It’s _so_ good to see you, Aziraphale.”

Aziraphale wanted nothing more than to close the distance between them, to beg for Crowley’s forgiveness and to completely envelop him with his love, but doubt prickled at the back of his mind, holding him back.

“Angel, please don’t be afraid of me. It’s me, I’m still me, and I could never do anything to hurt you. I won’t do anything to let you fall, I promise. I _love_ you, Aziraphale.”

Aziraphale squeezed his eyes shut, unable to endure any more of this torture. Was this even real, or had he in fact yielded to temptation and journeyed to Hell? Was this the torment they were subjecting him to, presenting to him this image of Crowley that could never truly be his?

“Crowley, demons can’t feel love,” Aziraphale murmured sadly. Crowley furrowed his brow.

“What makes you say that?”

“Everyone knows that it’s true.”

“It might be time for you to start realising that a lot of what everyone thinks they know isn’t actually true,” Crowley said softly, reaching his palm out towards Aziraphale, who instinctively took a small step back. “You took my hand before, when I was human, and you looked into my soul. Can you do that now?”

“I’m not sure. I’ve never been that close to a demon before.”

“Please try? You’ll see that what I’m telling you is true. I won’t let anything bad happen to you. You can trust me, angel.” Aziraphale stared down at Crowley’s open, inviting palm and swallowed. He had no idea what would happen were he to take it. “Aziraphale, do you still love me?”

“Of course I do! Crowley, my love for you is unlike anything I have experienced in six thousand years!”

“Then look at me, you know you can trust me. Please take my hand.” Aziraphale looked up at Crowley’s face and scowled, frustrated that he couldn’t properly look into Crowley’s eyes.

“Why are you wearing those?”

“Oh,” Crowley began, self-consciously raising the hand he had offered to Aziraphale and touching it to the side of his glasses. “To hide my eyes from humans, so they don’t freak out, I guess.”

“ _I’m_ not human,” Aziraphale pointed out. Crowley fidgeted nervously for a moment before sighing and carefully pulling the glasses away from his face. He closed his eyes as he folded and pocketed them, then seemed to steel himself before lifting his head to face Aziraphale. When he finally opened his eyes, Aziraphale gasped involuntarily.

“Yeah, I know.”

“No, Crowley, they...” Aziraphale began, bravely stepping closer, but didn’t know how to finish that thought. “Thank you for letting me see your eyes.”

“Windows to the soul, right?” Crowley suggested humourlessly.

“Quite right,” Aziraphale replied sincerely, taking in the changed appearance of Crowley’s eyes, the irises now golden yellow with slitted pupils like those of a snake. But that was just what Aziraphale could see on the surface, as soon as he looked deeper, he smiled and reached out, taking Crowley’s hand. “They’re beautiful.”

Crowley drew in a sharp breath, a sign of surprise perhaps, or maybe relief, and squeezed Aziraphale’s hand tightly. Crowley’s eyes fluttered closed as Aziraphale reached into his soul, still very much intact, and felt the powerful waves of love rolling off him. Aziraphale abruptly relinquished Crowley’s hand and tried to steady himself, overwhelmed by the intensity of the emotion Crowley had projected onto him.

“It’s me, angel. Nothing has to change. I love you. I told you, all that matters is _who_ we are, we don’t have to let _what_ we are dictate what we do.”

Aziraphale blinked back the tears welling in his eyes.

“Crowley, I love you so much. I’m so sorry for everything.”

“Shhh, angel...” Crowley soothed, stepping even closer, the distance between them gradually disappearing, and brushing a tear away from Aziraphale’s cheek with his thumb. “Everything’s fine. It’s going to be great! I can actually make a difference now; I have the power to make things better.”

“You can’t, Crowley! If Beelzebub finds out that’s what you’re doing, they’ll destroy you!”

“Nah, they never have to know. I’ll just blame all the good stuff on you, they’ll expect you to be there with me; I can’t very well tempt you otherwise, can I?”

“And what about all the horrible deeds you’re presumably supposed to be doing?”

“I’ll just take credit for a load of the shit that’s happening anyway. I worked for the private sector for decades, I know how to take credit for someone else’s work,” Crowley joked. “Trust me, they won’t notice, it’s a _mess_ down there, as long as I fill in the paperwork and they can tick a box everything will be fine. Or I can just say you kept thwarting me,” Crowley teased. “This is a _good_ thing, Aziraphale. I can do something! _We_ can do something! We can make it better! You and me, on _our_ side, fuck those wankers in head office! Beelzebub is expecting me to get close to you, so they’re not going to bat an eyelid if we’re together, and surely your lot would expect you to be doing your best to monitor and thwart my evil wiles?”

“Yes, I suppose they would.”

“Then what do you say? Partners?” Crowley held out his hand. Aziraphale studied it for a second, then reached out and took it. Crowley definitely felt different, which would take some time to get used to, but there was no mistaking it, he was still _Crowley_. “I think you might be stuck with me for a _very_ long time, angel.”

“I’m sure I’ll find a way to manage,” Aziraphale teased, a tentative smile spreading across his face. Their hands were still linked, but Aziraphale didn’t want to let go, so Crowley took the opportunity to tug on his hand and pull him forward. Aziraphale stumbled and righted himself in front of Crowley, who was smirking.

“I want to learn everything about you, Aziraphale. The _real_ you, the angel. Will you let me do that?”

“Well, if we’re going to be spending so much time together, I suppose it will be inevitable.”

“Are you all right? How do you feel about this?” Crowley asked softly, releasing Aziraphale’s hand and tenderly caressing his cheek.

“Everything I’ve been taught tells me I should be devastated for you, for your soul... but everything I have _learnt_ , everything I can see for myself, tells me otherwise. I’m so glad you’re all right,” Aziraphale sighed.

“Come here, angel,” Crowley breathed, wrapping his arms around Aziraphale and pulling him tightly against him. He nuzzled against his neck and began whispering in his ear. “You’re all I thought about, I couldn’t wait to see you again. You may think that you damned me, but you _saved_ me, Aziraphale, and you saved the world, and I love you so much, and I can’t wait to spend as much time as I possibly can with you.”

“I’d like that,” Aziraphale mumbled against Crowley’s neck, holding onto him tightly as though he were afraid to let him go, still struggling to fully accept that this was real. Crowley relaxed his own grip, and Aziraphale whined softly as Crowley pulled away from his slightly. His heart fluttered when Crowley began staring at his lips before tilting his head forward and meeting them with his own. Aziraphale moaned softly against his mouth as they shared a tender kiss, each letting their love wash over the other. Aziraphale was left breathless when they eventually parted.

“Then, since the restaurants are open again, perhaps you’ll let me tempt you to spot of a lunch?” Crowley winked, a demonic glimmer in his eye that really shouldn’t have been so endearing, but it was, because it was _Crowley_.

“Temptation accomplished,” Aziraphale chuckled, leaning up to kiss him once again.

“And then, maybe later we can pick up where we left off at the retreat?” Crowley drawled, and Aziraphale’s cheeks, not to mention the rest of him, suddenly felt a little warmer.

“Yes, I do believe you still had some things you wanted to show me?” Aziraphale replied coyly.

“Anything you want. I’ll do anything you want, angel.”

“There’s one thing I’d really like you to do for me.”

“Name it. Anything.”

“Don’t ever say you’re nothing special. You are. You’re special to me, Crowley.”

“You’re special to me too, angel. You’re all I’ll ever need.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you always had faith in me to give them a happy ending!! Of course, they go forth and do loads of good and help to solve the world's problems. ;-) And if you're wondering a bit more about Crowley's transformation, all you need to know is that God ships them and it's all part of Her divine plan. ;-) Thank you so much for reading this and for your comments and kudos, I appreciate them so much!!! <3
> 
> Cute mini Christmas story coming soon...! :-)


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